Tag Archives: blackrock spire
Trial of the Black Prince
You know, it’s a funny thing about spending a lot of time around Garrosh. After a while, the particular brand of blinders through which he looks at the world becomes oddly endearing. Case in point, that last bit Gurtash drew up. I have to admit, I actually sort of missed it while I was off the grid for a while.
Stopping at the Tavern of the Mists was my idea. Garrosh didn’t really have any business of his own there — unless you count inspiring Anduin Wrynn to regain mobility ahead of schedule — so he decided to go take a look around the area. Gurtash grabbed a drink from Tong downstairs (um, nonalcoholic hopefully, but I didn’t think to watch) and went out behind the tavern to rest by the steam pool.
That left me to have a little one-to-one time with the real reason I’d wanted to stop here on the way through.
WRATHION: I don’t believe I know you, friend. Is there something I can help you with?
MOKVAR: There might be. It’s why I came here looking for you.
WRATHION: Interesting. Ordinarily, people only come to seek me out when I send for them.
MOKVAR: Well, do that enough times and I suppose word will tend to get around.
WRATHION: Well then. Clearly I’ve been overestimating people’s sense of discretion.
MOKVAR: Don’t feel too bad. I make a point of having several ears to the ground.
WRATHION: We should get along well, in that case. Or not at all. It can be so hard to predict which way that will go.
MOKVAR: Let’s be optimistic and say option 1.
WRATHION: Indeed. In any case, you are here and I am being rude. <calling downstairs> Tong! A drink, please, for my new friend, mister… ah, I don’t believe I got your name.
MOKVAR: Mokvar.
WRATHION: <calling downstairs> Mr. Mokvar!
Wrathion turns back to Mokvar.
I suppose he doesn’t really need to know your name to serve you drinks, but I did start to tell him, and I would hate for the old fellow to feel I’d left him hanging. Is it Mr. Mokvar, by the way? Or Mokvar something?
MOKVAR: Just Mokvar.
WRATHION: No family name?
MOKVAR: Do you have one?
WRATHION: Fair point. Although advertising my particular family probably resides somewhere between unnecessary and inadvisable. At any rate, I was just curious. “Mok-var.” Does it mean anything?
MOKVAR: Nothing. Just Mokvar.
WRATHION: No? Don’t orcish names usually mean things? “Death of” this and “victory to” that and honor blood glory and such?
MOKVAR: Not everyone’s. Some, yes, like the Warchief’s, for instance.
WRATHION: Yes, I had assumed it meant something subtle like “Scream from Hell.”
MOKVAR: Well, I was talking more about the “Garrosh” part, but sure. Anyway, the point is, in my case it’s just a name.
WRATHION: Ah. Well, that’s less colorful.
MOKVAR: I’ll try to be more entertaining next time.
WRATHION: I would appreciate that. Ah, here we are.
Tong comes upstairs with a tray.
Our drink! Here you are, Mr. Mokvar. I hope you enjoy plum wine.
MOKVAR: I’m allergic to plums, actually.
WRATHION: Ah well. More for me, then! Thank you, Tong.
Tong leaves.
In any case — you have no wine, you have no last name, you’re not terribly entertaining, but here you are. What brings you out to my little sanctuary in the hills?
MOKVAR: Reputation. I’ve heard you’ve been recruiting help for a… well, let’s call it a project of some kind.
WRATHION: You might say that. I prefer to think of it as safeguarding the long-term safety of our world. You might even call it a family business of sorts.
MOKVAR: Well, other than the part where your father lost his mind and tried to destroy the world.
WRATHION: Well yes, there’s that, but who doesn’t get a little cranky in their old age?
MOKVAR: Hopefully you’re young enough that we don’t need to worry about that with you for a while.
WRATHION: One would hope. I do so love to keep people guessing, though!
MOKVAR: I guess I’m less of a daredevil. I like knowing these things for sure. For instance, this looming threat you seem so keen on protecting the world from.
WRATHION: Granted, I don’t really know you, Mr. Mokvar, but unless I’m wildly off in my estimate, you’re old enough that you shouldn’t need me to spell out that threat for you.
MOKVAR: I figured you meant the Burning Legion.
WRATHION: There you go. You’ve answered your own question.
MOKVAR: I’m not so interested in it being the Legion in general — you’re right, it’s common sense to figure they’ll strike again, sooner or later — but I’m more interested in the details. For instance… are you just making some “sooner or later” guess that any of us might, or do you know something more about what’s coming?
WRATHION: Well, I hate to show my hand too much. But suffice to say that as convenient as it would be to possess detailed foreknowledge of the Legion’s plans, I have to settle for something less precise. You might think of it as an inherited trait. My flight was charged with the protection of this world, after all. It stands to reason we might be imbued with an innate sensitivity to looming threats, particularly of a demonic nature.
MOKVAR: Well, apart from the whole deal where—
WRATHION: Yes, yes, I know, the business with the rar-rar-crazy and trying to destroy everything. I know. The flight lost the script for a while there. There’s no need to keep bringing it up. You don’t see me dragging the discussion back to your people’s somewhat checkered history in certain similar matters, do you?
MOKVAR: Wow, you’re sensitive about this, aren’t you?
WRATHION: You would be too if your every conversation were a time bomb ticking down to the inevitable Neltharion-splosion. You would think that after all the time and effort I spent tracking down and exterminating the rest of the black flight, people would see fit to stop lumping me in with them, but oh no.
MOKVAR: Well, technically, didn’t you recruit rogues to—
WRATHION: It’s called delegating, my friend! Goodness, do you spend all your conversations nitpicking like this? You must be a joy at parties.
MOKVAR: Deliana tells me that all the time, too.
WRATHION: Who is that? Your wife?
MOKVAR: No, she’s not my — ugh, why does everyone always think that…?
Wrathion looks at Mokvar quizzically.
Right… just… never mind.
WRATHION: Indeed… Well, in any case. My sensitivity to the threat facing this world is a holdover from that ancestry. It may well have surfaced in me purely because I’m the only untainted black dragon to have come along in an age.
MOKVAR: Are you sure this… “dragon sense” of yours is something specific to untainted black dragons?
WRATHION: There’s no way to know for sure, now is there? I am the only black dragon left alive, untainted or otherwise, so I suppose there’s no alternative for comparison.
Wrathion looks at Mokvar quizzically.
Why? That’s a rather… odd question to be a random inquiry.
MOKVAR: Just because there aren’t any black dragons living in this world — assuming you definitely got them all—
WRATHION: I did.
MOKVAR: Bully for you, then.
—doesn’t mean there aren’t any black dragons, at all. For instance, the not-quite-living variety.
WRATHION: …oh?
MOKVAR: Just a thought.
WRATHION: A thought inspired by…?
MOKVAR: Remember what you were saying before about not showing your hand too much? We’re rather alike that way.
WRATHION: Still, I think I can guess at a few cards. Evidently, there are some remnants of my kin stumbling around in some state of…undeath?
MOKVAR: Possibly.
WRATHION: Hmm. You would think that killing a dragon once would have been enough.
MOKVAR: Believe me, son, you’re preaching to the choir on that one. The gist of it, though, is that it looks like something may have woken some of your former family up from their nap. And the lead that first sent me stumbling in their direction involved some vague portents about “something coming.”
WRATHION: Hmm.
MOKVAR: Which sounds a little familiar now.
WRATHION: Yes, doesn’t it…
Wrathion glances behind him to his bodyguards, Left and Right, and makes a brief gesture.
And… what, pray tell, was it that sent you poking around… well, wherever you were poking around.
MOKVAR: Hypothetically.
WRATHION: Yes, of course. Hypothetically.
MOKVAR: It was… a personal matter.
WRATHION: Isn’t everything?
MOKVAR: Probably. But it does make me wonder what might have happened to stir up the Black Dragonflight even in death.
WRATHION: I don’t know. I can’t say I’m privy to the details of what’s putting the Legion in motion — or what will. It might not even have begun yet.
MOKVAR: How does that work?
WRATHION: Oh, one of the interesting things about precognition is that it can sometimes make one aware of an effect before the cause even takes place. Isn’t time fascinating?
MOKVAR: Preaching to the choir again.
WRATHION: All I can say, my friend, is that events are in motion that threaten to bring the Legion down upon us. And my every instinct calls for me to ensure Azeroth is ready to face them.
MOKVAR: That’s what I hear you’ve been telling people.
WRATHION: You don’t need to sound so conspiratorial about it! I’ll have you know, I’ve been working with some of your own kinsmen to that end.
MOKVAR: So I’ve heard.
WRATHION: You can rest assured, of course, that in the conflict we find ourselves embroiled in, my loyalties lie with your H—
MOKVAR: You don’t have to go through your usual song and dance with me.
Wrathion blinks.
WRATHION: Beg pardon?
MOKVAR: I know you’ve been recruiting people from the Horde and the Alliance. You don’t have to go through your usual pretense of professing your loyalty to whichever side you happen to be talking to at the time.
WRATHION: Er… I… that is… <laughing nervously> Mokvar, my friend, I haven’t an idea what you… that is… You, um… You know about that, eh?
MOKVAR: Like I said, I get around.
WRATHION: Apparently so much so that you’re privy to fairly private discussions across faction lines!
MOKVAR: Let’s just say I have a few useful contacts.
WRATHION: I see that. Nevertheless, what you don’t realize—
MOKVAR: Look, I’m not all that interested in what your endgame in all this is.
WRATHION: I… oh. You don’t? Because I had this whole speech ready on the off chance the situation ever came up, and—
MOKVAR: I assume it’s some type of deal where you think you’re serving some greater good, and playing both sides against each other is a means to that end that you think is justified.
WRATHION: Well… yes, I suppose that’s more or less… um… Are you sure you don’t want to hear the speech?
MOKVAR: And whatever the finer details of it are, they don’t really matter much to me, not least of all because whatever you have going on, you’re just pushing people harder into faction conflicts they were already fighting anyway.
WRATHION: …because it included a few turns of phrase I’m actually rather proud of.
MOKVAR: Could you let it go with the speech already? Believe me, I’ve already had to transcribe enough monologuing for one lifetime.
WRATHION: Oh fine. It’s your loss, though. There were motifs and everything.
MOKVAR: Well whatever the plan is, motifs and all, if you’re smart you’ll rethink it before you get any deeper than you already are.
WRATHION: Oh? And why is that? Are you threatening me?
Left and Right take a step forward, raising their crossbows.
I hope you’re not trying to threaten me. Tong gets so very cross when people make a mess of his place.
MOKVAR: You’re not hearing me. I’m not saying to rethink what you’re doing or else. I’m saying rethink it, because if you do, and you’re smart, you’ll realize you’re getting yourself into the middle of something you don’t want to meddle with.
WRATHION: The only thing I’m trying to do, my friend, is bring an end to this destructive conflict as quickly as possible. Or perhaps you’d prefer to continue watching the Horde and Alliance whittle away at each other while the house burns around them?
MOKVAR: And what I’m trying to explain is that you’re trying to tame a crazed worg. You think you can insert yourself into the Horde-Alliance war and bring it to heel, but you can’t. This is bigger than you. It isn’t subject to your whims.
WRATHION: You seem far too willing to resign yourself to the whims of chance.
MOKVAR: I’m willing to accept that chance’s whims have a lot more sway than ours. But, fine. If you don’t believe me, don’t believe me. Don’t say nobody warned you, though, if you keep meddling in things that are larger than any of us and you end up being bitten by it.
WRATHION: Mokvar, my good fellow, I’ve been enjoying your company, but don’t presume to lecture me. I am the last of the Black Dragonflight, chosen by the makers to safeguard the world. I see things you couldn’t imagine, and know things that would set your… pedestrian mind ablaze.
Mokvar looks thoughtfully into the distance for a moment, then nods.
MOKVAR: In that case, Black Prince, I suppose I’ll take my leave.
Mokvar turns and starts to walk away.
Good fortune to you in your endeavors.
WRATHION: And to you in yours, sir.
Mokvar reaches the door, then stops and looks back over his shoulder.
MOKVAR: A propos of nothing… does the name “Sabellian” mean anything to you?
Wrathion narrows his eyes and peers at Mokvar for several seconds.
WRATHION: Should it?
Mokvar shrugs.
MOKVAR: Probably not. Just something I heard somewhere. You seem like a knowledgeable guy. I figured I’d ask. I’m sure it’s nothing.
Mokvar turns back to the door.
Good hunting, your highness.
Mokvar exits.
Not sure if I made things better or worse there. I suppose we’ll see. Plenty of time still to worry about that. Hopefully. In the meantime, I have more research to do.
Mokvar
Spazzle Speaks: Prognosis
So hey, it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. This seems like as good a time as any. And I guess the main thing to talk about is what’s on everybody’s mind these days: Gurtash.
Like you all probably gathered from the top of Garrosh’s mailbag from the other day, Gurtash made it to the healers okay. Well, not okay, but you know what I mean. Ji and I were able to keep him stable enough after we left Blackrock Spire to get him over to the shamans in the Valley of Wisdom. From that point, we were pretty much relegated to hovering around while the healers did their thing. Better them than me. They ended up working on him nonstop until Garrosh and the others made it back, and they kept at it off and on for a good long while after that.
So, there’s good news and bad news.
The good news is that the healers got Gurtash stabilized. It was dodgy for a while, but Gurtash survived. He’s resting now at a place at the edge of the Drag, just off the Valley of Wisdom, where the healers can check in on him easily enough.
The bad news is that he’s still unconscious, and there’s no telling how long he’ll be that way before he wakes up. If he wakes up. The swipe he took from that spectral assassin did some major damage… the shamans did everything they could to patch him up… but at this point they say it’s pretty much up to Gurtash. Either his body will finish healing on its own and he comes out of it, or…well, he doesn’t. So at this point, there’s not much left for any of us to do other than wait.
Garrosh has been going over to check on him pretty much from the minute he got back to Orgrimmar. When he first got the news about Gurtash’s condition, he…well, he was less than pleased about the…um…insufficient progress. I thought he was going to invoke some kind of loophole or technicality in that whole “if Gurtash dies, so do they” message he gave me for the healers, but he just yelled a while and then stormed off. When I went looking for him a little later, he was hanging around the Kor’kron stables. He’s been going there pretty often the last couple of days, in between checking on Gurtash and doing his usual work over at Grommash Hold. I’m not sure why. From what I can tell, he’s mostly just standing around in the stables, looking at this one wolf, one that a mailbag writer recently donated – Grimjaw, I think he name was. The wolf, I mean. Not the mailbag writer. You can never be sure with orc names, you know? Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure there’s a Sergeant Grimjaw working down at Razor Hill.
Anyway, I’m not sure what that’s about. I guess we all deal with things in our own ways. In the meantime, we’re all just sort of spinning our wheels while we wait. And maybe once in a while manage to go about our normal daily business and convince ourselves it’s still a normal day.
That’s all for now. If you ever need any—
Eh… Never mind.
Hopefully we’ll have some news soon.
A long time coming
Someday, I have to ask the Noz what the deal is with time. How it seems to go faster and slower, and rush right past the good moments, and practically freeze solid in the middle of the worst ones. Like it’s going out of its way to screw us over and force us to spend most of our lives trapped in the middle of the worst parts of them. Fuck time.
Time was dripping along extra slow while Gurtash was dropping to the ground. Slowly enough for the not-so-little drops of blood to hang in the air just waiting for me to notice them. Slow enough for me to be on top of that spectral motherfucker tearing into it before Gurtash had even landed. I’m pretty sure the spook hit the ground first. Rage is the ultimate haste buff.
There was blood on the floor all around him. I don’t know the first thing about healing, but I’ve been on enough battlefields to know not-good a mile off. Ji and Shay were already gathered over Gurtash by the time I was pulling Gorehowl out of Mr. Wraith With the Worst Judgment Ever. Spazzle wasn’t far behind, while Ariok and Mokvar and his pet and his imp made short work of cleaning up the spooks that were left. We all have our jobs to do. Speaking of which:
[Okay, it’s been a little while. Hopefully my hand doesn’t start cramping up. –Mkvr., ed.]
JI: That’s it, keep the pressure there to slow the bleeding…
SPAZZLE: Oh man, I knew I should’ve put some points in Resto…
MOKVAR: It doesn’t work that way anymore.
SPAZZLE: You see how out of touch I am about this stuff?
JI: I think we can stabilize him, but he’s going to need a lot more than any of us can do here.
GARROSH: Shay, get a portal open to Orgrimmar!
SHAYARI: But I’m trying to hold—
GARROSH: Portal. NOW!
SPAZZLE: It’s okay. I’ve got it…
Spazzle rips off part of his sleeve and presses on Gurtash’s chest. Shayari gets up, channels a spell for a moment, then opens a portal.
GARROSH: Is he good to move?
JI: Not really. But moving him probably won’t make him much worse than sitting here waiting to bleed out.
GARROSH: Take him through. You and green stuff go and throw as many heals on him as you can on the way to the for-real for-real healers.
JI: Yes, sir.
Ji carries Gurtash to the portal and vanishes. As Spazzle moves to follow, Garrosh grabs his arm and turns him back.
GARROSH: When you get to the healers, you make sure they understand this comes straight from me: if the kid dies, SO DO THEY.
SPAZZLE: Loud threats of imminent demise. Got it, chief…
Spazzle disappears through the portal.
MOKVAR: Well, if that doesn’t motivate them, nothing—
GARROSH: Dude, what makes YOU think you get off so easy? If the kid doesn’t make it, YOUR head’s on the chopping block as much as anyone’s.
MOKVAR: Um…
GARROSH: You’re the whole fucking reason we’re even HERE. Don’t think for a second I’m going to forget that.
MOKVAR: Um…
DELIANA: You already said that.
MOKVAR: It still applies.
DELIANA: You know, you maybe should have put a soulstone on the little guy…
MOKVAR: Uh, could you not point that out in front of—
DELIANA: Just saying, the life you save could be your own.
MOKVAR: And besides, you know perfectly well I need—
SHAYARI: Maybe you guys could save this for the divorce hearing?
DELIANA: We’re not married!
SHAYARI: Okay, if you say so.
DELIANA: We’re not— Why does everybody keep saying this?
MOKVAR: You’re asking me?
GARROSH: Dude, do you even notice how you two act?
MOKVAR: Don’t you start, too!
GARROSH: Hey, listen, I’d LIKE to believe you wouldn’t go slumming with pink girl here….
DELIANA: What the hell does that mean?
MOKVAR: Really, don’t even try to get into it with him.
GARROSH: At least it’d mean you have more sense than Thrall did back in the day. Not that that’s saying much.
ARIOK: You’re the last one to be criticizing Thrall…
SHAYARI: Not for anything, Lamb Chop, as much as Beardy here’s no prize—
MOKVAR: And thank you for that…
SHAYARI: —you still probably would have been better off locking him up while you had the chance. You know, tick tock.
GARROSH: I think I’ve already established my SHUT THE FUCK UP stance with YOU, Ariok…
DELIANA: What the— I only just turned twenty-nine!
SHAYARI: For, what, the fifteenth year in a row?
ARIOK: As far as I can tell, Thrall only ever had one lapse in judgment, and that was—
GARROSH: Motherfucker, go on ahead and finish that sentence if you want to see how far I can toss your ass when I really mean business!
DELIANA: Listen, fancy-hooves—
A low, rumbling laugh interrupts the overlapping exchanges. Everyone looks over to see that the spectral form of Valthalak, while still partially transparent, has grown much more solid.
VALTHALAK: I never forget a face…and you two… Oh, I remember you two. I can’t say I ever expected you to have the courage to show your faces here again… I see your choice of companions hasn’t improved over the years, though – still bickering, still fighting amongst yourselves… I remember that as well…
DELIANA: Do you remember the part where you ended up dead, too?
VALTHALAK: Yes, and look how much that’s gained you. Or have you come all this way to show me how much my agents haven’t tasked you?
GARROSH: Oh geez, he’s really gonna keep talking, isn’t he?
VALTHALAK: You know, I think your choice of friends may even have gotten worse since before. As you say, at least they were strong enough to defeat me… but these new ones… well, if the ease with which the little one fell is any indication…
GARROSH: Oh, now I KNOW you should’ve shut up sooner!
Garrosh leaps at Valthalak, only to have Gorehowl swing right through the spirit.
VALTHALAK: I see this is a bright one. I’m a ghost, you fool.
GARROSH: Yeah, well so were your spectral who’s-his-fucks! How do I know which of these assholes I can hit or not?!
SHAYARI: Pops, could I suggest not trying to argue with the evil noncorporeal dragon?
DELIANA: The spectral assassins have to manifest physically – if they don’t become solid enough for us to kill, they can’t kill us.
MOKVAR: Which also means we have a handy catch on our hands…
Mokvar reaches into a pocket and pulls out the Nether Prism.
While you’re recognizing faces, your lordship… remember this?
Valthalak glares at Mokvar.
It made a neat little prize some years back…
VALTHALAK: Foolish mortal…
SHAYARI: Did the dead guy just call Beardy “mortal”?
VALTHALAK: …you don’t even understand what you hold in your hands – what’s at stake in your arrogant trifling with matters that are beyond you…
MOKVAR: I take that to mean you want this back, then. Well… come and get it.
The only way Valthalak was going to be able to take back his doohicky from Mokvar was to manifest fully, and once he did…well, game on. He threw us off at first – the second he shifted fully into physical form, he hit us all with a shadow volley that knocked us back, and he managed to summon up and handful more of those spectral motherfuckers. Still, Shay and Ariok and Mokvar and what’s-her-face managed to burn them down fast enough. Me, I was more interested in giving big boss dragon dude a proper welcome back to the land of the living, and make it a nice, short stay. By the time everyone else finished off the assassins, I was well on my way to wearing the big guy down. Still, he was no pushover, I’ll give him that much. He could take a beating, especially for someone who was, you know, dead just a few minutes before. It was a long, drawn-out fight, broken up by a whole bunch of those damn shadow volleys of his, but eventually, little by little, we were able to whittle him down, until his movements started taking on that little shaky hitch that only happens when you’re just hanging on.
GARROSH: I’m going to enjoy watching you drop, Valthy!
MOKVAR: No, hold back – don’t kill him!
SHAYARI: Huh?
GARROSH: The fuck— dude, that’s the WHOLE REASON we—
MOKVAR: We can’t kill him!
Mokvar pulls a glowing purple orb from his cloak and starts channeling a spell. A twisting ribbon of glowing purple energy starts to flow from Valthalak to the orb.
VALTHALAK: What! No! You haven’t the power to—
MOKVAR: Ordinarily you’d be right, your lordship, but luckily I came with an upgrade…
Mokvar holds the Nether Prism in his other hand and holds it and the orb close together. The glow from the Prism swells around both itself and the orb, and Valthalak convulses as the flow of energy from him increases.
VALTHALAK: You fool! You don’t know what you— they’re coming, stupid orc, they… AAAARRRRGGGHHH!
The ribbon of energy between Valthalak and Mokvar’s orb breaks, and Valthalak collapses to the ground, motionless. Mokvar stands over him, holding the orb in one hand, the Nether Prism in the other, both still glowing.
SHAYARI: So… did we not stop fast enough?
GARROSH: Looks dead enough to me.
MOKVAR: He’s not dead. Not exactly.
GARROSH: Oh, so you mean he’s approximately dead.
MOKVAR: That’s not a terrible way of saying it, actually.
DELIANA: Valthalak can’t be killed. Not entirely. We thought we killed him once before. Then we had others try again years later. He keeps coming back.
GARROSH: See? SEE? I keep SAYING nobody stays fucking DEAD anymore.
DELIANA: If we’d killed him, he just would have lain dormant for a while, then come back all over again.
MOKVAR: And I’d rather not have to keep going through this for the rest of my life.
SHAYARI: What did you do, then?
Mokvar holds up the shimmering orb.
MOKVAR: Soulstone.
ARIOK: Spirits…
MOKVAR: Technically, Valthalak’s body is dead. But this time, so long as his spirit is contained in here, he can’t manifest again.
SHAYARI: So…what now? Do you…I don’t know, do you destroy the stone?
MOKVAR: Can’t. If I break the soulstone, it’ll just release his spirit. The only way this isn’t just a temporary fix is if I keep him sealed up in here, permanently. So… well… I’m sure there’s somewhere at home I can stash it. Assuming I’ve still got a place to go back to?
GARROSH: Your house is still there. No guarantees that Malkorok didn’t turn it upside down looking for clues when you first disappeared. But yeah, you get to come back, so long as you hold up your end of the deal with your new toy there.
ARIOK: Garrosh, I’ll tell you again, you mustn’t do this – even if you were still considering this insane plan about the sha, surely even you can see the enormity of what this warlock is doing to—
GARROSH: Dude, I am SERIOUSLY getting sick of listening to you bitch.
ARIOK: He’s imprisoning a still-living soul, Garrosh, and—
DELIANA: It’s the only way to stop the monster who’s been trying to kill us for over a decade now!
MOKVAR: Look, Ariok, I can see why it might not sit so well with you, but you’re coming in late on this. You don’t know—
ARIOK: Don’t know what happens when we start to treat lives and souls and honor as options to be dispensed with when convenient? I’m starting to think I’m the only one here who does! I came here because that Pandaren claimed his friend was in dire need, but if I’d even suspected that he was setting out to allow the likes of this to—
In a flash of light and puff of smoke, Ariok turns into a sheep.
SHAYARI: Okay, that takes care of that. Is it just me, or does he, like, really seem like somebody who’d be a downer at parties?
GARROSH: Heh. So okay, while you’ve got the hocus-pocus queued up, let’s get another portal to home going.
SHAYARI: Coming up!
MOKVAR: Once we all get back to Orgrimmar—
GARROSH: Yeah, not so fast with the “all” – I’m giving YOU the clear for now, Mokvar, but as for your little human friend here…
Garrosh looks over to find Deliana is gone.
MOKVAR: Rogue.
GARROSH: Great.
Shayari finishes opening a portal to Orgrimmar. She, Garrosh, and Mokvar start to move toward it; just in front of the portal, Mokvar looks back at Ariok-the-sheep.
MOKVAR: So…we’re just leaving him there?
SHAYARI: The polymorph will wear off by itself in a few minutes.
MOKVAR: Okay… What if something jumps him first, though? I mean, the place still isn’t completely empty…
SHAYARI: Then it sucks to be him.
GARROSH: Eggs and omelets.
Garrosh and Shayari turn back toward the portal.
MOKVAR: Huh… she really is your daughter, isn’t she?
Just arriving back in Orgrimmar now. Finally. Heading over to see what the word is on Gurtash. More soon.
Wake-up call
Now that we were done with, you know, our year’s worth of delays, we finally headed deeper into the Spire and made our way toward the room that used to be that Valthalak dude’s lair. Or study. Or…office. Whatever the hell you call it when you’re some kind of weird-ass draconic summoner what’s supposed to be dead only not exactly because what the fuck. Good thing Mokvar still remembered the lay of the land in there — I would have ended up wandering around in circles if it’d been up to me. Still, I have to say, Blackrock Spire IS a pretty impressive place, as far as fortresses go. Kind of a shame it’s been sitting here mostly unused ever since the Blackrock clan cleared out. Well, other than ghostly dragon dudes or whatever.
We ran into a few more of those reanimated dragonkin on our way, but we made pretty short work of them. Still not sure what’s up with these dragon guys lurking around. I figure it’s got something to do with Valthalak being up and sort of kicking again, but fuck if Mokvar was any help piecing that together. He was pretty evasive, and it’s not like it would be news if somebody around here knew more than they were letting on, and fuck, Mokvar’s pretty much the grand poobah of that club at this point.
Valthalak’s room was just creepy dark, and it was in this echo-y part of the Spire where you could swear there was somebody — or a bunch of somebodies — talking just out of range for you to make out clearly. Still, Mokvar seemed like he was no stranger to the place, even after however many years. Once we were all in position, it was time to catch ol’ Mr. Part-Time Dead Drakonid’s attention. Mokvar summoned up an imp, which apparently really liked running its mouth, mostly about what a tool it thought Mokvar was, and yeah, Mokvar, doesn’t it suck when you get stuck with ungrateful insubordinate minions? Karma, dude, karma.
Anyway, though, the imp shut up right quick once Mokvar whipped out that Nether Prism doohickey and started channeling…um… I don’t know, he started doing some warlock stuff with it. Fuck if I know. It looked kind of purple, if that helps at all. Point is, firing up his warlock hocus pocus seemed to do the trick, because within a minute or so, in the middle of the room, who should start to appear in shimmery, mostly-transparent form but the dragon troublemaker himself, Valthalak. And of course, before he could even bother getting past his whole noncorporeal thing, he had to go into this whole greeting for us, Mokvar especially. You know, the usual spiel you get from bad guys when you crash their pad, where they pretend to be happy to see you and go on about unexpected guests and pleasant surprises and act like they’re all polite and shit except they have a TONE. I don’t know what it is with these guys. They all do this shit. There must be a manual or something.
Point is, though, before Valthalak was solid enough for us to do much about him directly, he started summoning up these wraith guys. Like, lots of them. So now I was finally getting to meet the famous spectral assassins that caused so much trouble for Mokvar and apparently made him go all batshit and stuff. More importantly, though, now I was finally getting to stop standing around and listening to people yap yap yap and get back to something more in line with my area of expertise.
I can kind of see how a bunch of these assassins would have been trouble for Mokvar solo, but with the whole crowd of us there, they weren’t nearly so much of a problem. At least not individually. Only trouble was that there were so damn many of them, just fading in out of the darkness in bunches, and it didn’t look like they were slowing down. We kept hacking them down, though, whittling the numbers down little by little.
The Horde is family (part 3)
Picking up where we left off last time…
* Ariok started asking Spazzle about his father, Eitrigg (who’s been more and more on the outs with Garrosh lately, such as here), before Mokvar turned up and…you know…started telling his life story.
* After Ji took off in search for Mokvar against Garrosh’s objections, Spazzle had this conversation with Vol’jin here.
NEXT: WAKE-UP CALL
The Horde is family (part 1)
* Mokvar learned of Theldren’s unhelpful warning when Deliana appeared in Orgrimmar, as he related here.
** Mokvar and Garrosh — along with Liadrin, Utvoch, and (a version of) Faranell — were trapped in an alternate timeline during the Timequake storyline. While there, they learned of Neeru Fireblade’s scheming in Orgrimmar (as seen here, and discussed by Neeru himself here). Spazzle, for his part, is clearly as tired of hearing about it as are many readers.
* As Mokvar recently related here, he went to see Neeru before disappearing from Orgrimmar.
* Shayari was starting to examine this peculiarity of the altar just before Mokvar make his dramatic return here.
** Mokvar offered to help Garrosh control the sha here, which was a good move on Mokvar’s part insofar as it likely averted an acute case of being brutally murdered.
* For anyone who doesn’t remember, Ariok’s father is Eitrigg, who has much more dove-like tendencies than Garrosh. Granted, there are likely serial killers with more dove-like tendencies than Garrosh, but still.
Monday mailbag
So if you’re reading this, it means that this pre-scheduled post I had Spazzle rig up for me has kicked in. See, I figured it’d been a while since I dipped into the ol’ mailbag, only I wasn’t sure how long I was going to wind up being tied up with the whole Blackrock Spire business, so I had Spazzle set this thing up so this mailbag post would go up automatically if I didn’t get back by a certain point. Which, if the post has gone up and you’re seeing it, totally raises the perfectly fair question WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON DOWN THERE I MEAN SERIOUSLY
ANYWAY.
On to the mail!
I have heard of your feats of battle, and wish to know, How did you get so good at fighting? do you have a secret trainer? what’s your favourite move? and lastly, is Gorehowl hard to wield?
I have heard of this daughter of yours, and would like to offer my services as a teacher if you wish. P.S i am a blood elf death knight.
Salamah’ashala noreh, warchief. (Goodbye/farewell)
–Ranacore Bloodblade
Hey, Ranacore, thanks for writing. No secret trainer, no real secret source for my combat badassery in general. Just talent, son, pure talent. A long childhood history of people in Garadar talking shit about my dad didn’t hurt, what with all the opportunities it afforded me to practice kicking ass at an early age.
Favorite move? I’d have to go with the plain ol’ time-honored axe to the face. I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.
Yes and no on the Gorehowl question. See, it’s perfectly balanced – you’ll never find an axe that’s better crafted in terms of distributing its weight and mass to lend itself to generating force while maintaining flexibility. Somebody really did a job and a half designing it. But at the same time…man, that motherfucker is heavy as shit. Which leads to a whole lot of people stumbling over, the first time they try to pick it up.
As for training Shayari, I think I’ve got that covered. Plus, she’s a mage, so I figure most of her training would be out of your area of expertise, seeing as you’re a death knight and all. On the other hand, you’re also a blood elf, so maybe you could show her, I don’t know, some fashion tips or hairstyling techniques, since I think maybe she’s into that shit.
Many thanks for the answers Warchief. As an aside, seeing as how you cavorted with the Draenei yourself, would it be presumptuous to look for a little leniency if I hook up with one myself? As a Tauren, the horns and hooves (and hips and tail) are kind of a turn on. I mean c’mon, what’s good for the Warchief should be cool for the rest of us, right?
–Karlsohn, Thunder Bluff
Dude, you think I’m not paying for that one? We all make our iffy decisions, Karlsohn, and some of them come back to haunt you, but only the very, very special ones have birthdays.
Greetings Honorable Warchief Hellscream,
We have a small problem in Pandaria: Gnomes. Mainly the dead ones. The Yaungol just love to kill them. I will not deceive you and say that I understand why the Yaungol kill these creatures, let alone roast their bodies. Seriously, it smells like bacon around their camps these days. Many of my Omnia trainees, especially the younger ones just past their Trial of the Red Blossoms, mistake it for actual bacon. It has led to some…uncomfortable moments. I am also no lover of gnomes. They are creepy with their bouncing, unnatural perkiness, and candy colored hair (also, those pigtails? Definitely NOT made of candyfloss. Lao Chin found this out the hard way). At least the Grummles have a use with ferrying supplies to our Monastery! So I ask of you, is there some use for these roasted Gnomes? I thank you for any advice you have to offer.
–Shen Wei Pureblossom, Healer of the Shado-Pan
So…while I’ve been a long-time supporter of the idea that the only good gnome is a dead gnome…roasted gnome? Fuck if I know. Probably the only thing roasted gnomes could have going for them is that they ARE dead – emphatically dead, in fact, like way past the point where someone could come along and raise them as undead gnomes, because CREEPY AS FUCK.
So, on the down side, I don’t really have an answer for you as far as what roasted gnomes are good for. On the plus side, I think we DO have an answer as far as what yaungol are good for.
I write to you seeking honest answers regarding our ongoing war with the Alliance and when it will end (as all wars must). Some time ago, my mate Detanga marched off to war as a soldier in your army. She would return home from many a battle with a few scars and some tales to tell our two children.
Just the other day, a grim Blackrock orc shoved her notice of death into my hand.
My heart burns with the desire to track down her killers and tear them apart, but I am a breeder of wolves, not a warrior. I would not last five minutes in battle. Detanga was always the stronger of us two. She served in a unit as part of our initial invasion into this land of Pandaria, but she died while defending our port there, Domination Point, during a cowardly Alliance attack.
I beg of you Warchief, send what forces you can to the Alliance’s port, this so-called Lion’s Landing. I am not the only one on my street to lose family in the attack. The blood of the fallen must be repaid! Know that had I the power, I would take this charge myself, but I am no warrior, as I have said.
Yours faithfully,
–Ogunaro Wolfrunner, Kennel Master
Way to bring the room down, man. Yeesh.
I mean…um… Sorry for your loss, Ogunaro. (By the by, any relation to Shyrka Wolfrunner?) Your mate must have fallen during one of a bunch of Alliance raids on Domination Point a couple months ago. All of them were repelled, but there were heavy losses in some cases – Warlord Bloodhilt among them, in the same raid as your Detanga if I remember right. Know that she died victorious, with honor, driving off our enemies and reminding them one more time what happens when they cross our people.
You’re right, though – they have another reminder coming to them. As it happens, I have Wolf-Rider Gaja, Dark Cleric Laresa, Thauma…um…Thamautu… Them…some blood what’s name is Saresse, and a few others, working on a counterstrike. When we roll over that kiddie-building-block castle they call a fortress, I’ll see to it you have a front-row seat.
Also, unrelated, seeing as you’re a kennel master: Do you have any tips for cleaning, um, wyvern stains? Mortimer’s gotten…well, let’s say, kind of uneven about minding himself. Although it IS kind of funny when he makes Malkorok have to toss out yet another pair of boots.
I have been reading your blog in its entirety on the recommendation of a friend from Thunder Bluff (it helps with my downtime as part of the Northrend cleanup crew). I noticed you have a…violent dislike of Magatha Grimtotem. As a Tauren loyal to Thunder Bluff and a former Grimtotem as well, I would offer up my axe at a chance to help you hunt her down. I missed my chance when the crone was in chains in Thousand Needles, but I would not let you down. I had grown disillusioned with her leadership some time before her treachery against Thunder Bluff was known, and when it was…well, that was the straw that broke the kodo’s back.
–Bahunada Darkhide of the Runetotems
PS: Would you mind if she was slightly “tenderized” before being brought before your judgment?
Oh fuck yes. FUCK THE HELL YES. Have at it, Bahunada. (By the way, I don’t know if you were aware of this, but your name is a grade-A bitch to type.) Go track her down in whatever cave she’s slithered into these days, smack her around, and drag her ass in. Feel free to take as many liberties as you want when it comes to the smacking around. I want her alive, mind you, but other than outright killing her, listen to your heart. Remember, “clinging to life” still counts as alive.
Oh, and while you’re at it, if you run into that other fucker Johnny Awesome – you know, the one who fucking LET MAGATHA LOOSE IN THE FIRST PLACE when she was all chained up in Thousand Needles way back when – feel free to open up as many cans of smack-smack-stab-die on HIS ass as you want, too. You’ll note that the whole “bring ’em in alive” thing is totally optional in his case.
I took alot of what you said to heart and I’ve been doing those errands all over the place! First I went to Silverpine. It’s really smelly there. Like, worse than the Troll area in the city, but it doesn’t make me giggly like the Troll area does. And it’s all spooky there with all the walking corpses. It’s just not cool. Stonetalon was better, until I met Mr. Dontrag and Mr. Utvoch. They really are kinda stupid, aren’t they? They weren’t as bad as that Tirion guy. First he sat me down for a good two hours to just talk. I kinda tuned him out after the first ten minutes, although I wish I coulda hit him with my shield! I think that Daria lady wouldn’t have liked it, though. His stupid trainees are super weak and lazy too! I think I made one of those elfs cry after smacking them around a bit. Alot of them didn’t stand a chance, although their trainer thought I was a boy! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?! He sent me on a bunch of stupid errands his trainees were too lazy or beat up to do. I showed those dumb trainees how a real orc gets things done and what does Tirion do? He starts to rage at me, then thanks me for “rooting out a traitor to the Crusade” or whatever he said. I started tuning it out when he got going again. He also smelled funny, but more like Gamon after he’s kicked out of the inn.
I found my warrior calling too! I really like smacking things with a shield and protecting my fellow orcs! Mostly the shield smacking, though.
—Mirembe, Orgrimmar
Hey, Mirembe. Nice work on the warrioring. Especially nice work on the shield bashing. Not really my thing, mind you, but it’s always good to have some tanky types around, especially considering most trainees don’t want to bother with the job when they can just run around blowing shit up, metaphorically or otherwise. I might have to look into getting you an extra goodie bag or something.
It’s good that you’re keeping busy, even if…well, I mean, it sounds like you’ve been mostly surrounding yourself with less than the best company. Not that I’m one to talk. But believe me, I know all too well about the fail that happens when you let the jackass cocktail of Dontrag/Utvoch/Tirion into your life.
I haven’t seen Tirion for a while now – yay for me, sucks for you – but I’m not surprised he’s still yammering on. And I mean “still yammering on” as in still yammering on about whatever bullshit he was saying last time I saw him, months ago, without even coming up for air. And you know, as much as I hate cutting any slack to those Argent Dawn Crusade Talk to the Silver Hand people…like… yeah, I’m sure the trainees up there ARE weak and lazy. They’re probably fucking EXHAUSTED. Wouldn’t YOU be, if you had to listen to Highlord Paragraph all day every day?
As for the Wonder Twins…shit, I don’t even know WHAT D&U would have been doing back in Stonetalon. I mean, they’ve been on detachment down in Pandaria, and they’ve just been in Orgrimmar temporarily while a bunch of us have been back for a check-in, so… I don’t know, maybe they’re up there visiting someone? Do they even have friends? Poor fuckers, if so. Or, I don’t know, maybe they got confused and went right back to their old posts in Stonetalon, because after all, “confused” is pretty much a default state for those two. t’s not like they’ve been reassigned back to Overlord Cliffwalker where they’d be stuck back up there permanently…and…um…back to being HIS headache, and out of my hair, and…
Um…
Hang on.
I need to go look for a form.
As always, keep those letters coming! Next mailbag April 6! E-mail garrosh1337@gmail.com or submit your message below:
Scribin’ ain’t easy
* For anyone not in the know, Mokvar was long responsible for recording Garrosh’s transcripts, but in his absence, Gurtash took over scribe duty in comic form. With both of them present here in Blackrock Spire, Mokvar and Gurtash turned to a time-honored method for settling dibs.
* When Shayari first came to Orgrimmar and met Garrosh, Gurtash’s artwork was…less than steadfast in its commitment to verisimilitude.
