Tag Archives: borean tundra
If they get out a hacky sack, I’m going home
So after what Hamuul and Antlers were saying about the critters in Mulgore maybe getting their weapons from a druid in animal form, I got to thinking. If there’s a druid responsible for this, it’s probably not one of the Cenarion people, seeing as Hamuul usually stays on top of shit better than that, and it’s probably not one of Antlers’ Guardian types up in Hyjal, unless Ysera is really falling asleep on the job. (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?) So that rules out most of your typical mainstream druids. If a druid is behind this, it’s got to be somebody from the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe. And when you’re talking about the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe, it doesn’t get any fringier than DEHTA.
So, guess where I’m writing from, through the wonders of wireless internet. That’s right – right this very minute I’m up in the Borean Tundra, paying the DEHTA fuckers a visit. I’m at their camp right now, mostly trying to figure out what the weird herbal smell around here is.
I was hoping I would get to talk to Lather-on-us – ever since he got it into his demented head that I’d gone vegetarian (HA!), he’s been at least vaguely bearable to deal with. But, come to find out, he was off working on something away from the camp when I got here. Nobody seems too clear on when he’s going to be back, so I guess I’m just going to have to make due with the other DEHTA people for now.
Thing is, sad as this will sound, Lather-on-us is probably the most stable one of the bunch. With him gone, check out the crew I’ve got to deal with.
You’ve got Hierophant Cenius, who’s more or less running the store with the big guy away, and can’t seem to get through a sentence without saying “you dig, man?” and snapping her fingers like 53 times.
Then you’ve got…well…I don’t even know what his real name is, but he sits around all day wearing this retarded murloc getup, and only answers to “King Mrgl-Mrgl.” I guess he’s actually a night elf, and had been sent to watch the Winterfin murlocs up north, only the murlocs embraced him and made him king and then he went native or some shit. Then, the last time I was up here, Mortimer helped himself to a murloc buffet and pretty much wiped out this guy’s constituency, so now he’s back here at the camp without much to do. Other than make retarded gargling sounds.
There’s Zaza, a frost nymph, which I’m not going to mess around with at all after the other day because NYMPHS BE CRAZY.
And then you’ve got Killinger the Den Watcher, or as I like to call him Killinger the Obsessive-Compulsive, who doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to shift out of bear form, and more importantly, doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to use soap, because holy shit, seriously. Honest to fuck, dude, the patchouli oil isn’t fooling anyone. Now I know what you’re thinking on this one – druid stuck in animal form, maybe this is our guy. I was thinking that too, only that brings us to our next item, the whole obsessive-compulsive thing. Dude just keeps walking in a circle around the middle of the camp, counting to himself out loud. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,” on and on and on. Just in the time I’ve been here he’s gotten up to 3219.
At one point when he rolled over 2000, I decided to mess with him, and started yelling random numbers. He got all spastic for a second, then walked back to this one spot in the camp, nodded his head three times, then started circling the same old path while counting off “one thousands” again. I waited for him to crack 1000 and started doing the random numbers again. Same deal – walked back to the exact same spot, three nods, went back to circling, “one one thousand, two one thousand.” I am willing to roll the dice on this guy not being our diabolical mastermind.
So this is Lather-on-us’ braintrust. Hard to believe Hemet Nesingwary is still up and kicking, isn’t it?
Anyway, I’ve been hanging around here for a while now, trying to choke down a salad that doesn’t even have the common decency to have bacon bits on it. The DEHTA fuckers have been friendly enough mostly, but it’s hard as hell to keep them on topic, and then when I get irritated and try to respectfully suggest that they could maybe try pulling their heads out of their fucking asses for like two minutes, they start calling me “Herbert” over and over, whatever that means, and then chuckle like morons. All I’ve been able to get out of them so far is that they don’t seem to know anything about animals being armed, but a few months ago there used to be some new guy hanging out with them, a troll named Tembw’bam, who was all about animal liberation and fighting The (hu)Man(oids), and “any means necessary,” and eventually he got them all going “Whew, this guy’s crazy,” and they sent him on his way. Which, seriously, when the fucking DEHTA people think you’re a nutjob? Time to say “check please” to life, dude.
They’re not sure what happened to him, though. They think one of their other people, Hierophant Liandra, might remember a little more, but she’s out patrolling for trappers right now. They think she should be back soon, so I’m going to hang around the camp here for a little longer, or at least until I get too sick of these people to keep it up. Thank goodness for the internet, is all I’m going to say. You peeps on Twitter? You know who you are – right now you are single-handedly keeping my sanity. Because what the holy FUCK is a tofu burger? Ffs.
The Tuskarr and the Mortimer
So here it is – the final installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Thanks to everyone who participated, whether by giving suggestions for poems, or just coming by to read the latest submissions. And so, without further ado…
The sun was shining on the sea
Beneath the Borean sky;
The waves were waving to and fro,
The crests were cresting high.
And that it was a glorious day
No creature could deny.
To Warsong Hold a zeppelin
Brought Garrosh with his bunch.
He’d come to visit D.E.H.T.A.’s camp
And have a little lunch.
And this was strange, since most of them
He would much rather punch.
But he had come to humor them
And show a little class;
He figured this way it might keep
Lather-on-us off his ass.
So he’d choke down a salad
And, with luck, would not get gas.
So as the Warchief wandered off
To find the D.E.H.T.A base,
He left his wyvern free to fly
And soar at his own pace,
Since frankly it was just as well
He stay clear of that place.
So Mortimer went flying ’round
Exploring as he may,
And came upon a Kalu’ak
Outside of Unu’pe.
The Tuskarr greeted him and said,
“Hail, wyvern! Frabjous day!”
The wyvern landed near; the Tuskarr
Said, “Now let us see –
I feel that in my travels
I could use some company.
So, wyvern, let me ask you,
Would you like to come with me?”
The friendly Mortimer just gave
A nod and then a bark;
He figured that he might as well
Go with him as a lark.
And so away from Unu’pe
The pair did disembark.
The Tuskarr and the Mortimer
Went strolling in a rank,
Across the Geyser Fields and past
Airstrip of Fizzlecrank
(Where Mortimer left for the gnomes
Some droppings as a prank).
Along the northern coast they found
A village, and therein,
A mob of mumbling Murlocs
From the tribe of Winterfin.
The Tuskarr said, “Aha! And so
Our fun can now begin!”
“Hail, Murlocs!” said the Tuskarr
As the Murloc ranks increased.
“Good day!” he said; they gathered
As the village was policed.
“And since we’re friends, good Murlocs,
We’ll make you a quite fine feast!”
The unsuspecting Murlocs beamed.
“Tell me, have you a pot?”
And at the Tuskarr’s question
A great cauldron out was brought.
The Tuskarr set his pack down
And said, “Now, what have I got?”
The Tuskarr opened up his pack
And set aside his hat.
He started to unpack some herbs,
Vegetables, bacon fat.
“Now while the water boils,
Murlocs, let’s have a little chat.”
So Mortimer just sat nearby –
A curious scene, he thought.
The Tuskarr sliced some carrots
And tossed them into the pot.
Some onions, too, and celery,
While all of it grew hot.
“The time has come,” the Tuskarr said,
“To talk of many things:
Of pigs—of guns—of crab fishwives—
Of eggmen and Lich Kings,
Of countless Kael’thas setbacks,
And of why fey dragons sing.”
“Grr-blrrrrgll-grarrrrlllllb,” the Murlocs said;
The Tuskarr said, “Indeed!
Another fine point, Murlocs,
Oh, that I will concede.”
“Brrrr-blarrrrrbgggll,” said the Murlocs;
Mortimer paid little heed.
“Aha!” the Tuskarr said, “It seems
The cooking broth is done!
We’re ready to begin!” But then
He saw he’d have no fun.
For Mortimer already, well,
Had eaten every one.
The Tuskarr grew so very mad
And cried, “You little twerp!”
He hardly could believe his plan
The wyvern would usurp.
And Mortimer just shrugged and then
Let out a little burp.
Thus concludes our charming tale
Of Murloc genocide,
Of wyvern walrus wandering
And fish-man woe betide.
A happier ending I don’t think
I ever could provide.
EPIC VERSE!
[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]
Monday mailbag
So let’s see what the mail has for us this week…
Not only is King Mrgl-Mrgl of the Winterfin murlocs a dangerous radical, but I be hearin’ he not even be a native-born Winterfin! And he be rulin’ da Winterfin! Join our movement to demand he be releasin’ his birth records! Demand da trut’, mon!
–Bob, Echo Isles
OMG I KNEW SOMETHING DIDN’T ADD UP ABOUT THAT GUY!!! I remember running into him when I was still stationed out in the Borean Tundra. He was always dropping by asking if we had any soy burgers, whatever the hell that was. I was like, dude, why can’t you just eat fish and stuff like the other murlocs, and he got all huffy and gave me attitude. So I slapped him around a little and send him home. Still, he was just weird, you know? Like with most murlocs you’d be lucky to get anything out of them other than “burglemurgleflurglegurglecrap,” and this fucker’s blabbering on about “indigenous” and “ecosystems” and shit. And fuck, if I have to listen to crap that I don’t know what it means, at least let it be crap that doesn’t make me feel fucking stupid on top of it all.
So, yeah, Bob, I think you might be on to something about the fucker. Where do you figure murlocs keep records like that? Probably some little island somewhere where they’re gonna fucking stonewall us on getting the forms released, just you watch. Fucking murloc spin operation.
As your loyal emissaries, to wit, etc., it is our honor to report our arrival as per your instructions in Stonetalon Mountains, Krom’gar Fortress et al. Overlord Krom’gar is pleased to hear of word that notice has been sent of your commandership’s pending visit, we are sure Your Warchiefness will be impressed by the inconceivable might of the forces amassed heretofore as per your indulgency. It is most hoped that Your Hellscreamingestness will pardon the crudeness of our missiving as we are but humble orcs, but Utvoch has been taking an extension course in diplomatic writing so we hope we’ve been able to shape our note into inconceivable due reverentness.
–Sgt. Dontrag and Scout Utvoch, Stonetalon Mountains
Okay, first of all, I don’t think that word means what you think it means, but whatever. Second, I don’t know who’s teaching this class Utvoch is taking, but whoever it is I’m thinking you need to tone it way way way the fuck DOWN, okay? Like seriously. HEAD HURTS. But anyway, I’m glad things are shaping up in Stonetalon. I know the Overlord’s mostly focusing on the Alliance incursion in the area, but make sure we’re also keeping the Grimtotem problems under control down south. The last thing I want to see is those fuckers getting a chance to come up for air.
Fucking geez, though, it took two of them to write that piece of shit? I swear, I know I might not be the biggest genius ever to come out of Garadar or anything, but seriously the internet makes me feel like a fucking brainiac sometimes. Oh wait, fuck, they’re going to see that, where’s that fucking erase button again? SPAZZLE!
To Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde:
We at D.E.H.T.A. have received reports indicating that you are indeed waging a most CRUEL and DESPICABLE war – a war waged against the poor, defenseless animals who SUFFER under your regime. In particular, you have committed the following ATROCITIES against Wyverns and Hippogryphs, two NOBLE winged citizens of the air who surely deserve RESPECT and CARE from an earthbound creature (or dare I say, mud-bound creature) such as yourself:
1. You enslave these lofty souls and force them to bear your burdens, ferrying troops and cargo for YOUR benefit, not theirs;
2. These creatures – of an intellect far surpassing your own, I’d wager – are forced to endure long, TEDIOUS hours of flying the same routes over and over again without variation, or sufficient rest;
3. You ENDANGER their lives by strapping explosives to their backs and sending them into battle where they could be INJURED or KILLED;
4. When they grow weary and tire of these exertions you have them BEATEN within an inch of their lives, showing NO compassion or regard for the services they have rendered to you;
5. You then have the AUDACITY to boast about the maltreatment you have inflicted upon those in your care by posting about it on your so-called “blog”;
6. You make JOKES about “crippled” animals, without regard for how such jokes inflict emotional PAIN and SUFFERING on those differently-abled animals who read your insensitive comments.
Your crimes cannot be allowed to continue!
I have discovered the identity of the Wyvern that you had so callously beaten and sentenced to the Winterspring-Silithus flight path! As you read this message, said Wyvern has been liberated! Members of D.E.H.T.A. have secured the Wyvern – hereafter referred to by his NAME, because he has a NAME, which is MORTIMER – and are moving Mortimer to an UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, where Mortimer will be safe from you and your Horde thugs!
In addition, we also have the following DEMANDS:
1. All Wyverns, Bats, Dragonhawks, etc that are currently serving as “taxis” for the Horde must be RELEASED IMMEDIATELY!
2. Any creature currently in service in the Horde’s army or being used as a mount must be IMMEDIATELY DISCHARGED.
3. If any animal wishes to re-enlist in the Horde’s army or apply for a job ferrying persons or goods it must be offered fair wages, sufficient periods of rest, and full medical/dental insurance, as outlined by the Animal Worker’s Union. (The Animal Worker’s Union is a new initiative by D.E.H.T.A. Details forthcoming, watch your mailbox!)
4. All Horde children will be required to read D.E.H.T.A.’s new pamphlet, “Becoming a Druid: How I can have a fulfilling career while being self-sufficient and able to fly MYSELF around”.
Until you acquiesce to our demands, we will continue to picket your flight points and liberate your “taxis”! (As there are currently six members of D.E.H.T.A. we anticipate that this will be a huge disruption of flight service!)
Best wishes,
–Arch Druid Lathorius, D.E.H.T.A.
Oh crap, here we go.
Look, Lather-on-us, how many times do we have to go through this shit? It’s the same song and dance every time. You dig up some nit-picky complaint about something I’m doing with some animals, wah wah wah, bitch and moan, insert crying like a little girl here, blah blah, skip ahead to me not giving a fuck. Then you start picketing, and then I have some of my mages cast blizzard on your asses, and then you go skittering away because you can’t stand the cold. HEY I HAVE AN IDEA, maybe a fur coat would help with that? OH FUCK I FORGOT, SNAP!
But hey, you obviously put a lot of time and effort into your “demands” there, even though, you know, you’re not in much of a position to demand anything, seeing as I have about 8000 soldiers on hand here who could beat the snot out of any one of you DEHTA asshats. Hell, never mind the soldiers, I’ve got like fifty personal guards who could smack down any two of you. You know what, fuck that, I’ve got half a dozen food tasters who could mop up the floor with the whole lot of you at once. So yeah, not really shaking in my sabatons over the whole “demand” thing, so how about we call them polite requests.
So since you DID put a lot of time and effort (and WORDS, let’s not forget ALL THE FUCKING WORDS) into your requests, here, let me offer a counter-proposal:
1. All wyverns will be released from flight point duty, ON THE CONDITION that DEHTA members make their flight-form-having asses available to carry my citizens around Horde territories as needed, because guess what, hippies, if you mean business about making life easier for the damn animals YOU CAN PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS ARE. How’s that sound? You and the rest of your crazy-ass druid friends just step on up and make sure our air-taxi needs are covered, and hey, you know what, as long as the six of you can stay on top of all the flight demand, those beloved wyverns of yours don’t have to so much as flap a wing. Hey, you know, come to think of it, I’ll even release them into a bunch of wyvern play ranches, and set those up right along all the flight routes, so you pansies can look down and enjoy the sight off all those happy wyverns that you’re making possible. Bet that’ll make those aching wings of yours a whole lot easier to bear, right?
2. But we can’t leave out the kodos and worgs and raptors, now can we? NO WAY. And I’m sure you guys will be only too happy to provide a happier life for those animals too, and don’t you worry, I’m already on the motherfucker. I’ve got my goblins working RIGHT THIS MINUTE on a whole fucking fleet of bear- and panther-friendly rickshaws. They tell me they should have the first six ready to go within a couple days, so you don’t even have to fucking WAIT to make life easier for all those pack animals. AREN’T YOU FUCKING LUCKY!
3. The Horde will donate an enormous pile of cloth to DEHTA, to be used to make some more suitable gear for your members, since I know you guys can’t wear mail or plate armor like grown-ups, and from what I hear druids normally wear leather, BUT WE ALL KNOW YOU WOULD NEVER WALK AROUND DRAPED IN MURDER, and we can’t have a bunch of naked druids wandering around catching their fucking death of cold, so I guess cloth it is! Armor specialization bonuses be damned! And hey, don’t feel like you’re putting us out at all, quite frankly we’ve had these little up-and-coming wannabe adventurers dropping off mountains of the stuff in every capital city for years now, and after the first couple months nobody’s known what to do with the shit, only no one’s had the heart to tell the little noobs they’re beating a dead horse (FIGURE OF SPEECH, FIGURE OF SPEECH, KEEP YOUR PANTIES ON), and seriously you can only make so many fucking band-aids.
4. To show my support of your fine organization and help finance your noble efforts, I will personally fund and arrange a fundraiser – the first annual DEHTA-benefit all-you-can-eat hippogryph barbeque. You can hold me to this: EVERY LAST COPPER WILL GO STRAIGHT INTO THE COFFERS OF DEHTA – so eat up, bitches, the more tasty marinated hippogryph wings we choke down, the brighter the future of DEHTA. TELL YOUR FRIENDS, THANK ME LATER!
5. Horde children will receive your DEHTA pamphlet, ALONG WITH my own supplementary booklet, “Garrosh’s 12-Step Guide to Keeping the Fucking Sand Out of Your Vagina, Even if You Happen to be a Night Elf.” AVAILABLE NOW ON RANDOM TABLETOPS AND BOOKSHELVES THROUGHOUT AZEROTH!
6. All DEHTA members will receive a formal invitation from the Warchief of the Horde to SUCK IT and STFU.
Are we done?
