Tag Archives: cairne bloodhoof
Monday mailbag
So before I head out to check on the Temple of the Red Crane, I figured I’d make a quick mailbag check and dip into the latest batch of letters.
Hello sir. I’m one of Overlord Runthak’s trainees and I’ve been reading your blog for a long time. I’ve noticed that between Garona and Warlord Zaela, and even mailbag writers like Wega, you really seem to have a following among the ladies. My question is, how do you do it? I haven’t had much luck with the girls in my training group, and I bet it would help a lot if I knew your secret.
Thank you,
–Dol’akar
Hoo boy. This one again. See, Dol’akar, I wish it was that simple, but seriously, this is kind of like going up to Mylune and saying, “Teach me to be batshit crazy like you.”
Thing is, something like 85% of my game comes down to the fact that I look like a canister of distilled sexy, kick ass on two planets, and – let’s face it – lay the pipe like an army of plumbers in the Wetlands. And all that’s just natural. Now, since you’re a trainee, I’d like to tell you that part of your problem is that you’re still just a teenager, and adolescent awkwardness and blah blah blah, and things will get better as you get older, but honestly? I was doing just fine for myself when I was a teenager in Nagrand (I tell you, those draenei girls were crazy back in the day), so, you know…again, natural.
Still, if you think it’ll help you at all, I can let you in on the other 30% of my game. To start with, you want to buckle down in your combat training. This should help you in a number of ways. First off, it’ll keep you in good shape, which at least gives you an outside chance of offsetting a little sliver of the disadvantage of having no shot at being as dead sexy as me. Second, it’ll put you in a better position to beat the living crap out of any competition you might run into from among the other trainees. This will show the girls that you’re sensitive to their needs. Those needs being, of course, that they need to stop wasting their time on those other assholes and focus on you, and hey, what the fuck do you even think YOU’RE doing here, chump? But yeah, girls seem to like that sensitivity crap – don’t ask me why – so that should win you some points. And third, the better you do in battle, the faster you’ll be able to advance through the ranks.
Which brings us right to our next point: power is sexy. Let me tell you, after Nazgrim made the jump from Sergeant all the way up to Legionnaire and then General, he had women all over him. You know, until he crashed two ships and killed them all. But that’s a whole other thing. (This reminds me of another suggestion: Work on your piloting skills. Because why tempt fate?) Anyway, point being, moving up in the world can only help your chances. Just keep in mind that you’re looking at a hard cap of High Overlord, seeing as the only thing above that is Warchief, and we all know I’m not going anywhere for a long time.
Hope this helps.
Hey hey, Garry! Wazzup, my man?
I just built myself a chopper and it’s hella rad. Damn, but I look kickass ridin’ that hog! Got the ladies all over me. But then I thought I need some wicked cool tats to seal the deal, ya know what I mean? So I was flippin’ through some mags for ideas and whoa! Double page spread of Mr. Warchief-crush-your-head himself! And I’m like, “Dayum, that’s some fine art right there.” High five, buddy.
So… where’d you get your ink done? I need a parlor that can capture my style, yo.
–Fizzpop “The Fizz” Clutchgear
Sup, Fizz. First of all, before we go any further – I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again:
Okay, now that that’s out of the way.
Glad to see that somebody appreciates the tattoos. Oh, wait, lots of somebodies already do, of the female persuasion (see previous letter). But still, thanks anyway.
I had most of my tattoos done in that little window of relatively-not-fucked-up time just after becoming Warchief and just before the Cataclysm. They’re ceremonial markings from the Warsong clan, done by a Mag’har tattoo artist from Nagrand. I actually had him recommended to me by blademaster Burzum. He was always really helpful. You know, before he went all snarly-sha-crazy. But I digress.
I could put you in touch with the guy if you want to look him up. If you ever find yourself in Garadar, look for Vanteg. I hear he’s been in pretty high demand since word got out that he’d done the Warchief’s ink, so you might have to get on a waiting list. Feel free to drop my name, though. He might skip you ahead in line. Either that, or he’ll figure you’re another one of the people who show up and lie about knowing me, in which case, you know, sucks for you. Them’s the breaks.
Well, of course the Star-Tribune is biased. (Besides, I’m pretty sure that if you trace it through far enough, the Regent-Lord owns it.) That’s not the point. The official line has always been that the Regent-Lord is doing a fine, bang-up job. And, at least out loud and in public, everyone with an ounce of sense agrees. He’s not above having his guys straight-up mind-control people talking out of turn in public. For real-talk, you have to go to the shadowy dives off of Murder Row … and what’s new is that it’s getting harder to find dissent even there. It may be begrudged respect, but growing respect, nonetheless. People want to believe that the old Lor’themar is coming back, the man who used to be the Ranger-General’s second-in-command, the one who used to be … well, not completely useless. And perception can take on a reality all its own.
Then again, this may just mean that the magisters have started slumming, and everyone’s getting a helping of re-programming. It’d still have the same effect, and I’m not qualified to tell the difference.
–A Concerned Citizen
Hey, ACC. Good to hear from you as always.
So hang on, let me make sure I have this straight. You’re saying that Ponytail controls the media and information outlets in Silvermoon, is forcibly silencing dissent, and is subtly manipulating the population of his capital city into a hero-worshipping, glory-seeking, cult-of-personality bunch of jingoistic wahoos?
Hoo boy. That’s not good news for anybody any way you cut it.
Sir,
I was out picking herbs today to mill for me inscription training. It’s Father’s Day and I was picking Gromsblood, which got me to wondering … How do ye feel about having an herb that only grows in places tainted by fel magics be named after yer dad? And if it bothers ye, have ye ever thought of having it changed?
Sincerely,
–Kriann, Jr. Member, Explorers’ League
Hey, good to hear from you, Kriann. On the other hand, kind of sounds like you might be a dwarf, in which case, fuck you, Kriann. Anyway, thanks for writing.
So about the gromsblood. I see where you’re going with the fel-tainted thing, but that’s never really bothered me. For one thing, I usually just look at it as a name given to honor the awesomeness of my dad. It’s actually pretty fitting, in a way. Wherever there’s land infested with fel magic, wherever there are demons lurking about, there’s a little reminder of Grom, ready to give them the ol’ Mannoroth special. I usually don’t read much more into it than that.
Also, the fact of the matter is, it’s not at all uncommon to have an herb named after a prominent figure. There are tons of them. You probably know about Khadgar’s whisker, for instance, and then there was Arthas’ tears until that stupid ballot initiative passed and renamed them to sorrowmoss, because spirits forbid we should offend the spirit of Arthas and make him cry even more. But there are actually lots of other, more obscure ones that a lot of people haven’t heard about. For instance:
Creeping Sylvanas – Sometimes called the Syl-vine-us, although that’s actually inaccurate since it’s not technically a vine. This is a strange type of plant that’s created by herbicides. You spray your garden and kill the weeds…and then a few days later, those hey-weren’t-those-dead weeds grow back in the form of creeping Sylvanas. And start killing loads of other plants and turning THEM into creeping Sylvanas. And then after a while they seem to settle down and mostly get along with most of the regular vegetables in your garden, only you can’t quite shake the sinking feeling that maybe they’re up to something that you can’t put your finger on.
Broxigar Thornbush – The only plant ever known to harm Sargeras. Which is a weird distinction to keep track of, but I guess academics need something to do. Anyway, when Sargeras first arrived on Azeroth, he started ranting on and on about “dark titan” this and “destruction is nigh” that – you know, like you do when you’re a cartoonish bad guy – and then in the middle of this, he pricked himself on one of these thornbushes, and started howling pathetically about “Ouch my finger owies ow OWW!” Which kind of took the edge off the whole “fiery apocalypse” thing. Kind of gives you an idea of why the dude lost, though.
Lor’themar Pansy – Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, this isn’t a reference to the actual guy, but to a plant. As a general rule, if you see some frilly-looking flowers around somewhere, and you kind of recognize them, but you’re not sure what they’re called, so you’re all, “You know, those flowers. From the place. The red ones”? Those are probably Lor’themar pansies.
Cairne Blossom – This plant used to grow all over the place in Mulgore until Magatha tricked me into pruning it all. Oops.
Fordragon Lily – These tall, striking bulb plants were named for Bolvar Fordragon, since they used to grow all around his old outpost in the Dragonblight. For some reason, right at the end of the Northrend campaign, they all withered and mutated into a strain of lichbloom. I’ve never been able to figure that one out. I tried asking Tirion about it once, and he just got all quiet. Which is noteworthy because it was the only time in history that the words “Tirion” and “quiet” have ever appeared together in a sentence that didn’t also include the words “needs to be.”
Thrallvine – This stuff grows on the side of your house and pretty much just sits there being innocuous and not doing anything, other than making random passers-by yammer on about how awesome it is. Then out of the blue it goes on a crazy growth spurt so everywhere you look, there it is, until you’re just goddamn sick of looking at it all the time. I bet you could replace that shit with a way better plant that would make your house stronger and be nicer on the eyes to boot, but you’ll probably just wind up with a bunch of assholes bitching about it. Also your landlord seems to have an inexplicable, unhealthy attachment to the stuff so you know they’d never let you get rid of it.
That’s it for this time around. As always, keep those letters coming, and I’ll try to brighten your empty lives with my inspiring answers again soon.
Monday mailbag
So I was finally able to get a decent internet connection going again, long enough to get my mail sorted out, and I figured since I have a decent bunch of letters from you peeps, and I haven’t offered any mailbag love for a while, I might as well do just that. Because you know me – your Warchief is nothing if not all about the love.
It’s my first weekend back in Silvermoon in I don’t know how long, and man, is the mood different around here these days. Whether you’re going to think that’s good news or bad news depends on how you interpret that.
Remember my first letter? The one where I was basically advocating high treason against the Regent-Lord? A lot of us used to be dissatisfied that he was doing a whole bunch of nothing. The impression around here, at least if you believe the spin from the Silvermoon Star-Tribune, is that the Regent-Lord’s approval numbers are way up since he started getting jiggy with it down in Pandaria. Yes, the Star-Tribune is calling what Lor’themar’s doing down there “decisive leadership” and “proactive management”. And the public seems to be buying it.
Either that, or they’re just glad that he’s somewhere else, and hoping he eats a Mogu hammer somewhere along the way. That’s the other way to look at it.
To be honest, I’m not sure which one I’m buying, yet. That’s something I’ll have to think about when I get back to Pandaria.
–A Concerned Citizen
Hey, ACC. You know, my first reaction here is that people probably ARE a little happier about Lori because he’s been away. Problem is, if that were true, you’d think that I would start finding him less annoying since he’s gone BACK to Silvermoon recently. But…nope. He high-tailed it out of Pandaria, then promptly made a big ol’ cluster fuck of that whole business with the sha box…and the less said about the sideshow going on in my Earth Online guild, the better. I suppose it’s still a LITTLE less irritating, but only because I don’t have to listen to him live and in person. At least until he comes strolling back down here again.
Also, not for nothing, but are you sure the reports in your little dorky newspaper are reliable? Who’s doing the writing? It’s amazing what a little propaganda can do for a ruler’s perception. Or so I’ve heard.
I’ve been following some of your interactions with Lord Theron and I was wondering if you limited your observations to him or if you think all Blood Elves are like that.
I’ve been in Pandaria just about since the beginning (but I can’t explain how Anduin got away–that was General Nazgrim’s job, not mine) and have tried to do my part for the Horde. Also: Pandaren don’t seem to have barbers. Anywhere. Not a one on this damn continent. You should give us credit for coming here anyways even with that sacrifice.
Respectfully,
–Vyrin Dawnstar, Shrine of Two Moons, Pandaria
P.S: If anyone told you about Anduin and the Temple of the Red Crane, I deny it all. Not me. Nope. Must’ve been someone else helping him. If that hasn’t been brought to your attention yet, please ignore this part.
Hmm… Well, Vyrin, I guess that depends on what you mean by “all blood elves are like that.” I mean, like what? Spindly and break-easy-ish? Because, well, sorry, but you guys kind of are. A little too preoccupied with the uber-luxurious hair? I refer you to your second paragraph. (By the by, I think the lack of barbers in Pandaria is because the pandas just shed. Can you imagine the cleanup crews you’d need in Silvermoon if the elves were like that?) That said, I DON’T think all blood elves are like ol’ Eyepatch in the absolutely-completely-utterly-useless department. I mean, Lady Liadrin has always struck me as pretty sharp and on top of things, and…um…okay, give me a minute here, I’m sure I can come up with a second example.
Hang on.
Um…
Okay, I’m going to have to get back to you on this, but seriously, I’ve got a…reasonably strong suspicion there’s at least one more I can name.
Also, though, what? Anduin at the Temple of the Red Crane? I’ve heard some scouting reports about that Red Crane place, actually. I may have to do some followup on that place…
That scar on your lip is so sexy. It makes you look very manly and tough. I’ve been wondering though how you got it. I’m sure there is some extraordinary tale of bravery and valor associated with it. I’d like to hear it.
Your devoted admirer,
–Wega
Hoo boy. Here we go again with Wega. So…yeah… For those of you who maybe haven’t noticed, Wega is talking about the scar I have on the right side of my upper lip:
So, okay, I know you’d probably figure I got the scar from some glorious battle, or one of the times I’ve squared off with Varian, or something else like that, but as it turns out, it was really more of a fluke injury. One night about a while back, I was trying to reorganize some of my junk in Grommash Hold, and I was stashing a couple boxes of stuff on a high shelf. While I was stretching up to reach the shelf, I lost my footing and fell over. Now, ordinarily that wouldn’t have been a big deal, except it just so happened that Mortimer was there with me, and was curled up on the floor sound asleep. Until I slipped and fell, and landed right on top of him, and he was so startled that before he knew what was going on, he snapped at me. And, yeah, got a nice chunk of my lip.
So, that was fun.
Gotta say, though, in a way it was kind of endearing afterward – once Mortimer knew what was going on, he DID act all sad and apologetic, and spent the next few days following me around trying to make nice. Once again, wyverns are better people than most people.
Now granted, having my lip cut open by wyvern fangs wasn’t exactly fun, but depending on how you look at it, I still don’t think I’ve gotten the worst of it from Mortimer. That honor probably goes to Malkorok. A few weeks ago, I was talking to Malkorok while I was getting ready to leave the Sanctum of Two Moons, then walked past him to the landing platform out front. Mortimer was following along behind me, and just as he was passing Malkorok, Mortimer stopped, lifted one leg up…and fucking peed on him. Oh man, you should have seen the look on Malky’s face. Especially when I pointed out, “Dude, considering what that usually signifies for a wyvern, you LITERALLY just got owned.”
Heh.
Hehehe.
<snort>
I want to thank you for helping us DPS kids and, you know, stuff.
I have a question though.
What happened to all your hair? I saw pictures of you and you had hair at one time, but now you don’t. Do you plan to grow your hair again? How would you wear it?
–Ruekie, Shaman-in-Training, Domination Point
What is this, fucking “Everybody Ask Garrosh to Explain His Personal Appearance Week”?
Oh, wait, hang on, it’s one of the kids.
What is this, blankety-blank “Everybody Ask Garrosh to Explain His Personal Appearance Week”? You kids – DO NOT read that first part from a couple lines up, YOU UNDERSTAND ME?
Anyway, yeah, Ruekie, I used to have a ponytail, right up through my time in Northrend. I wore my hair like that going all the way back to when I was a kid. To tell you the truth, it was pretty much the best of iffy options, as far as something I could do with my hair that would look maybe-sorta decent. See, while Grom had a really thick, full mane of hair, I guess I must have gotten mine from my mom’s side of the family, because my hair was always fairly coarse and stringy and just…patchy all over my scalp. Even as a kid, I pretty much had the beginnings of male pattern baldness going. And really, it shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise that I wouldn’t have that great of a head of hair – you know the old saying, grass doesn’t grow on a busy street.
Anyway, the ponytail was just a way to yank it all together that didn’t look flat-out terrible. Eventually, when I moved to Orgrimmar, I figured the hell with it and just cut it off. Which first of all, is much more low-maintenance. No more spending ten minutes every morning tugging it all together and trying to bind it up and then having the band be too loose so you start feeling it slipping out little by little all morning, or getting that one strand caught halfway through the pull-through and then feeling your roots getting pulled every time you look to one side, or…ugh, yeah, whatever. Way easier this way. Not to mention it’s way more practical in battle – it’s one less thing to get caught somewhere, and one less way for an enemy to grab you from behind.
Besides, much better to just embrace the baldness and go with it, rather than try to compensate with something that looks maybe-not-quite-terrible-if-you-squint-a-little. This way, it just announces to the world, “Yes, I’m bald. DEAL WITH IT.” Confidence is very sexy, don’t you think?
(Maybe I shouldn’t have put it that way. I can hear Wega scribbling out another letter as we speak…)
Cool little web form you have here. Sometimes those techie goblins do have some good ideas. (Not often, but sometimes.)
Anywho, my question for you this week is this: If you were to retire from warchiefin’ tomorrow, who would you choose as your successor and why?
Thanks!
–Kaija
You know, Kaija, this is actually a pretty decent question. For all the good things about the Horde, we don’t really have a clear line of succession. I mean, obviously if I were going to retire – presumably years down the road when I’m a gray-haired (FIGURE OF SPEECH, RUEKIE, DON’T GET EXCITED) old man basking in the triumphant glow of my many glorious victories – I would be in a position to sit back, think it over, and pick out an appropriate successor as Warchief. But what if something happens before I have the chance to? What if I get sick or injured? What if somebody decides it would be a bright idea to throw me a surprise party for my 70th birthday, and the ol’ ticker finally gives out? What if – I know this is a long shot, but still – what if I die in battle somehow before we even get to the wrinkly stage? What then? WHAT THEN, I ASK YOU?
So, it’s probably not a bad idea to put a little thought into who a good successor would be, and maybe establish that that person is next in line, just in case something happens.
And then, you know, make it very clear to that person that I’ve left the Kor’kron with special instructions to follow in the event that I should die under circumstances that are in any way even remotely fishy. Such instructions including, but not limited to, the agonizingly slow execution of the successor, their siblings, their friends, their relatives, their next-door neighbors, and anyone who’s ever been seen being polite to them in public.
You know. Just FYI.
Anyway, we might as well be systematic about this, so I’m going to review some of the likely candidates to follow me as Warchief – and just for shits and giggles, I’m going to group them into suitable categories and even give my best estimate at their odds of getting the nod. Place your bets now.
THE “OH SNAP DID I SAY THAT” DIVISION
VOL’JIN
1,000,000 to 1
Not really an option, because guess what, bitches? HE’S DEAD. HAHAHA <snort> that cracks me up more than it probably should.
THE “I GUESS I’M OBLIGATED TO AT LEAST MENTION THEM” DIVISION
JASTOR GALLYWIX
999,995 to 1
I mean…I guess he’s technically leader of the Bilgewater goblins, but… Well, like, does anybody even know where the fuck he IS half the time? I’m pretty sure the only times I’ve ever seen him were at the meeting of Horde leaders to prepare for the Theramore attack, and the celebration in Orgrimmar afterward. And, well, with the meeting, I pretty much sent notices to every goblin I could think of and then crossed my fingers hoping that word would reach him. And at the celebration…yeah, mountains of free food and booze, so of course he was going to show up for that. Honestly, I don’t get why the guy’s so low-profile. He had a fucking pleasure palace built in Azshara, and you can’t even find him THERE. Believe you me, if I ever commissioned the construction of Garrosh’s Pleasure Palace, you could call off the search parties, my ass would be there.
Hmm. Hang on a second, I need to jot something down on next month’s agenda planner.
LOR’THEMAR THERON
500,000 to 1
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… Yeah, sure, this guy as Warchief. Do I really even need to elaborate here? Come on.
SYLVANAS WINDRUNNER
200,000 to 1
You know, she would actually be a pretty strong candidate – to her credit, she IS intelligent, charismatic, and competent – if she didn’t creep the living FUCK out of everyone. Not to mention make you worry that she might then replace that aforementioned living fuck with some kind of weird-ass UNDEAD fuck under her control.
BAINE BLOODHOOF
150,000 to 1
He’s a great warrior, he takes good care of his people, and you can practically see Cairne when you look in his eyes (not that that makes me at all awkward, no sir). He’s also freaking Vol’jin Lite what with the bitching and the moaning and the OMG Garrosh how could you. Because if there’s one thing you don’t want to stand for, it’s actually GOING TO WAR with the people you are ALLEGEDLY AT WAR WITH. Last thing the Horde needs is a fucking carebear in charge. And Thrall me no Thralls – Guy Smiley sat on his hands way too much too.
THE “I BET YOU DIDN’T THINK I KNEW ABOUT THIS MEME” DIVISION
A BASIC CAMPFIRE
5000 to 1
HAHA SEE I BET YOU ASSHOLES DIDN’T THINK I HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR ABOUT THAT SHIT.
THE “DIDN’T YOU RETIRE LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO” DIVISION
DREK’THAR
500 to 1
Chieftain of the Frostwolf clan and friend to Durotan way back in the day. Lived through the corruption of the orcs, but refused to drink the blood of Mannoroth – granted it was largely because Durotan ordered the Frostwolves not to, but it still shows a certain level of principle AND loyalty to his clan all at the same time. Greatmother speaks about him just fondly enough to make me feel uncomfortable. The main down side, other than being blind and spending most of his time getting rolled around in a wheelchair by Captain Galvanger these days, is that since the Cataclysm…well…not to be mean, but let’s face it. Dude has just gone batshit senile. And that’s not even getting into the whole thing with him shitting himself. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Old age is not kind.
EITRIGG
200 to 1
He’s been around for ages, advised both me and Thrall, has watched over Orgrimmar while I’ve been down here in Pandaria, and has always been staunchly devoted to the well-being of the Horde. If we had some kind of lifetime achievement award to dole out, I would sign him up for it tomorrow, even if he DID get a little grumbly with me over the Theramore thing. Who didn’t, right? Shows what those fuckers know. Anyway. The point is, though, as much as I like Eitrigg, he’s pretty much one of those guys who’s basically a permanent lieutenant. You know the ones. Year after year, they’re always second in command to one general after another, and somewhere along the line, after like the fourth guy gets promoted over them to take command, you realize there’s a reason for it. Perfectly good at his job, but he’s just never going to be suited for the big chair.
Also, if he were in charge, can you IMAGINE how much time freaking Tirion would probably be spending in Orgrimmar? Do you really want to subject people to THAT?
VAROK SAURFANG
100 to 1
Veteran of two wars. Served as Thrall’s right hand and as my executive officer in Northrend. He even served as acting Warchief for a little while, that time when I was off the grid. At the age of nine zillion, he’s still one of the biggest badasses around. He doesn’t sleep – he waits. Death once had a near-Saurfang experience. Mannoroth became more powerful by drinking HIS blood. There was going to be a street named after him in Orgrimmar, but the plan was canceled for safety reasons because nobody crosses Saurfang and lives. When warlocks make someone run away in fear, they pay a royalty to him. He’s considered an honorary shaman because he commands the element of surprise. I’m at least 50% sure some of these facts are made up. But you get the point.
So what’s the case against? You mean, other than at least two or three occasions that he’s threatened to kill me? You mean OTHER THAN THAT? Frankly, he’s a holdover from a Horde that’s a thing of the past – too old, too sentimental, too backward-thinking when we’re trying to move our people forward. Too willing to extend an olive branch to the Alliance when we need to be smashing them over the head with the whole fucking tree.
Mostly the threatening-to-kill-me thing, though. I don’t want to tempt fate. (Along similar lines, by the way, fate doesn’t want to tempt Saurfang.)
THE “I MIGHT ACTUALLY CONSIDER PICKING ONE OF YOU PEOPLE” DIVISION
WARLORD CROMUSH
50 to 1
This one is a dark horse candidate, no question. But the dude did yeoman’s work in Gilneas when he had the thankless job of keeping Sylvanas marginally under control, he’s run a tight ship in Hillsbrad at a time when the Horde finally secured a firm hold on the region, and he’s been our primary command officer in the Eastern Kingdoms going on a couple years now. The fact that he’s been able to work with the Forsaken with some measure of success is a major plus – yeah, they’re creepy and sketchy and just plain ol’ EEEESH, but they’re handy to have around. He probably needs some more grooming for higher things, but he’s worked his way into the conversation for future high-profile assignments.
MALKOROK
25 to 1
You know, Malkorok really has most of the bases covered: he’s smart, uncompromising, and relentlessly devoted to the Horde, with a sharp tactical mind and an indisputable ability to get shit done. He’s reshaped the Kor’kron, tightened up security, and demonstrated he’s one of the people you want fighting beside you on the battlefield.
Down side? Well, let me put it this way.
About a year ago, some goblins tried to start up a business making wyvern food. They did all kinds of tests to find a good formula for it as far as ingredients, they did focus groups to give it the most appealing packaging, they launched a huge advertising campaign for it and made sure it was easy to find at all the vendors…and absolutely nobody bought it. How come? Because for all the things they had going for them and all the effort they put into packaging it just right…wyverns just didn’t like it.
Draw your own conclusions.
GENERAL NAZGRIM
10 to 1
You all know this guy, and have probably worked with him on at least an occasion or two. And really, if being Warchief was purely a military matter, this would probably be the guy. He’s an excellent strategist and tactician, he adapts well on the fly, and since he came up through the ranks the old-fashioned way (I remember him serving under me in Northrend as a piddly-ass sergeant…and to put that in perspective, remember, freaking DONTRAG made sergeant), he appreciates what it’s like to be one of the grunts in the trenches and isn’t afraid to get in there and get his hands dirty by their side. Okay, there was that whole disaster where he shit the bed on security and let Anduin get away, but maybe he can delegate. But here’s the thing: being Warchief isn’t solely a military job. It’s also the political head of the Horde, which means that as Warchief, Nazgrim would essentially be steering the ship of state. And, well…we all know what happens when that guy gets near a ship.
WARLORD ZAELA
5 to 1
Leader of the Dragonmaw and a no-kidding-around badass warrior. She took command of the Dragonmaw clan after helping to overthrow the nutjob “Warchief” Mor’ghor – gotta admire someone who has the stones to take down a corrupted leader for the good of the clan. She was new to leadership at the time, and I’ll admit I was probably a little tough on her in my assessments early on, but she’s really grown into the role, and she’s been stepping up to work on some more projects for me the last few months. I’ll also admit I might be swayed by seeing how she went about her business in that other world. Still a little green, though…I mean, green in the “inexperienced” sense. Not green in the fel-magic-drinky-drinky-demon-blood-grr-rarr-proud-ancient-culture-down-the-drain-oops sense. Was that insensitive? Anyway, she could probably stand to have a few more years working closely under the Warchief before she’s in line for the job herself. But she’s definitely on the rise.
WARLORD BLOODHILT
2 to 1
Bet you didn’t see this one coming, did you? Just goes to show what an outside-the-box thinker your Warchief is. Hell, sometimes I’m so far outside the box that I don’t even know where the fuck the box is. What box, anyway? Fucking metaphors.
Anyhow, some of you might remember Bloodhilt from the southern Barrens, where he assumed command of our operations after former Warlord (and current zombie sous chef) Gar’dul managed to make a giant mess of things down there. Bloodhilt cleaned up Gar’dul’s fuck-ups, secured our position in the area, and made it possible for us to make our move on Theramore. Since then he’s made the trip with us to Pandaria, where he’s been commanding officer at Domination Point. Just a solid, stand-up officer who’s done nothing but impress from day one. Any way you cut it, you can get used to seeing his name cropping up, because he’s not going anywhere.
So, there’s your breakdown. On that note, I’m going to call it a day as far as answering the mail goes, but keep those letters coming and I’ll try to answer more of your questions as time allows. Since Spazzle’s form doohickey worked pretty well for this batch of e-mails, here it is again:
Same as it ever was
I was groggy when I woke up, and even after I opened my eyes, it took a few minutes for my head to stop spinning. Finally my vision cleared up and I found myself sitting in a chair, sprawled forward over a table. There were papers under my face, and a few of them stuck to it courtesy of a small puddle of drool.
I straightened up in the chair, plucked the clingy pages from my cheek, and looked around the room. It was the admiral’s quarters in Northwatch Hold, the room I’ve been using the last few days of our stay here. The drool-smeared papers in my hand, and others spread around the table, were covered with maps of Theramore, lists of troop assignments, armament logistics, the crew manifesto of a goblin air galleon.
I ran my hands over the table to make sure it was really there. And then my uneasy brain went looking for hallucination in the next most likely place.
Had I imagined it? The other world, the demons, the Scourge, the fall of Orgrimmar…everything…could it have just been a dream? It seemed so real, the memories were so vivid…but…
I stood up, gathered more of the papers from the table, and started paging through them — not even reading anything on them, really, just wanting something I could feel in my hands. As I held the documents over the tabletop and looked at all the words without ever reading any of them, my arm brushed another paper, this one creased and folded, jutting out of my belt.
The military documents spilled around the floor as I grabbed the folded paper and rushed to unfold it. It was worn and stained with what looked like blood, just a torn-off scrap, not even half a page. Scrawled across it was the familiar handwriting of the Master Apothecary of Sylvanas’ Royal Society. Or the man who would become him.
They’re going to turn against you. Don’t let them.
He really, REALLY never listened. It’s like some weird matter of principle with him. I don’t even know if he was really trying to help, offering some begrudging, misguided gesture in parting…or if this was his way of giving me one last middle finger for the things I’d forced him to do. I don’t know if I could hold either against him.
But that sealed it. It all happened. Except that it didn’t, now.
It worked. We did it. We saved the world. It all happened, just the way I remembered it, just the way it was supposed to.
I walked over to the tower window. I needed some air to clear my head. I leaned out and looked across the Barrens. I could see Horde banners below, and a squad of Kor’kron wyvern riders circling past as they patrolled the area. And as I looked off into the distance, staring at the horizon more than anything, I started to make out wisps of smoke, faint black tendrils reaching up to the sky from old, spiteful fires that refused to go out completely, even after all this time.
Taurajo.
I turned from the window and stepped back into the room.
And then I grabbed one of the chairs arranged around the table and threw it against the wall. The chair broke into pieces. I ran over and grabbed them up, one after another, breaking them into smaller pieces and smashing them against the wall again. And then a second chair. And a third. Screaming with each one — AT each one.
I threw them around the room until the chairs were pieces and the pieces were splinters, smashing them against the walls and the floor and each other as if by breaking them enough I could force back the thoughts I couldn’t help thinking.
I ran across the room to a bookcase that stood against one wall and sent it toppling. Books spilled around the floor. I lunged down, hunched over, grabbed them by the fistful and hurled them against the walls. Watched them clatter back to the floor. It didn’t help. I grabbed up more of them, pulling them open, ripping them apart at the spines, flinging loose pages around until they fluttered uselessly down around me.
Fluttered like shimmering white wings.
I pounced back on the broken bookcase, yanked out one shelf, flung it across the room. It clattered to the floor. It didn’t break. I wrenched out a second shelf and threw it against the door, leaving a deep gash in the wood. That one didn’t break, either. Somehow that only made me angrier, sent me into a rage at its stubbornness, its stupid defiance, refusing to snap. How DARE it — how dare ANYTHING — and I ran to the door, grabbed up the fallen shelf, and beat it against the wall until it splintered.
It didn’t help. It wasn’t enough.
The door to the room opened and Malkorok leaned in. I only heard bits and pieces of whatever he said — something about the noise, and my yelling, and if I was all right. I spun on him, struck him across the face, then threw him back out of the room and down the stairs before slamming the door, rattling it on its hinges.
Today is not the day to ask me if I’m all right.
I grabbed one of the broken chair pieces and jammed the door shut. I wasn’t in any mood for interruptions, least of all from the likes of him.
The admiral’s bed — flung over, frame snapped, mattress torn open. Feathers floating through the air and scattering around the room. The nightstand next to the bed — lifted over my head and slammed down onto the floor, shattered awkwardly into pieces. Its single drawer split off awkwardly and spilled letters and trinkets across the floor. Part of it splintered off as I swung the nightstand down onto the floor and stabbed into my forearm. I barely felt it. I didn’t even notice until a spattering of blood started to dribble onto the letters and papers strewn around the floor.
It still wasn’t enough. It might never be enough.
Go be a hero, he told me. Go save the world. I did. We won. And all I had to do was kill him. All I had to do was burn Taurajo. All I had to do was become the final secret conspirator against our people in time of war, once upon a time. All I had to do was save traitors, destroy families, forsake all honor in the face of a battle too dire to be won any other way.
I don’t know how long I can stand to live in this world if these are the choices I have to make to save it.
I was racing around the room in circles, kicking at anything in reach, clawing pictures down off the walls. Only really half seeing what was around me, just grabbing anything I could, then throwing it or stomping it underfoot or breaking it over one knee. At some point I found myself spinning in place, roaring madly at nothing, and then threw myself at the table, beating it with both fists, pounding over and over until the wood buckled and the beams split and it all came crashing down and still there I was among the pieces on the floor.
I pulled myself up and looked around the ruins of the room, choking down air in gasps.
This room isn’t big enough. It isn’t big enough. Nothing in it is big enough.
I need something bigger.
We march tomorrow. Theramore burns.
[Wrathgate (wide shot) image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate. Professor Putricide, Putress, and Cairne Bloodhoof (living) images provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth; click the links in this sentence to see the souped-up Postcard versions! All images used here with permission and many thanks.]
The parting of ways
Dranosh and the others arrived with the Windrunner this morning, along with a surprise – Jaina Proudmoore. The message I’d sent to Dranosh in Theramore said there’s a chance to fix things but we need to get the Focusing Iris from Northrend, and when Jaina heard that part, she volunteered – check that, insisted – she join the party. Imagine my delight. Still, the enemy of my enemy, I guess.
So far this morning, we’ve had an uncharacteristic run of mostly good news. Based on the head counts, most of the civilians got out of Orgrimmar in time. Military losses were heavy – in addition to Vol’jin and Zaela, it turns out Nazgrim didn’t make it out – but still not as disastrous as they could have been. Dranosh brought the remaining civilians – Horde and Theramore alike – with him along with a few support officers. Thunder Bluff is farther from the combat zone, it’s separated by natural barriers, and its position on these mesas makes it easier to defend. There really isn’t anywhere SAFE to tuck away the civilians anymore, but this is the safest of unsafe options.
The better news is that a couple hours into scouring the city this morning, Utvoch earned his keep and spotted Edwin over on the Spirit Rise. He’s spooked as all hell, no surprise – he got dropped into this world just in time for the attack on Orgrimmar, without warning or context or any friends from the Caverns of Time to help make sense of it for him. I’ll try to start filling in some of the blanks for him on the way to Northrend. Gotta say, I’m not looking forward to explaining how his brother fits into all this.
Other than loading up the Windrunner with a few supplies, there’s just one piece of business to tend to.
CAIRNE: I understand the honor you show me today, Warchief, and I will strive to be worthy of it. As I have watched over the tauren, so too will I watch over the people of the Horde.
DRANOSH: I’m hopeful that we’ll return soon successfully. But if we don’t, I need to be sure that our people will be left in good hands. Now they will. May the spirits guide you, Cairne. Let everything you do be done for the Horde.
Dranosh salutes Cairne. Cairne responds in kind.
They’re yours now, Warchief Bloodhoof. Lead them well. Aka’Magosh – for the Horde!
CAIRNE: For the Horde.
ALL ASSEMBLED: For the Horde!
DRANOSH: <clasping Cairne’s hand> I hate to abdicate and run, but I have a few last preparations to make before we go.
CAIRNE: I understand, Warchief.
DRANOSH: <grins and walks away> Call me Dranosh.
Dranosh walks off. Garrosh approaches Cairne.
GARROSH: I should probably go help him in a minute.
CAIRNE: You have important work ahead of you, I know.
GARROSH: <glancing around and nodding> So many things that aren’t what they should be.
CAIRNE: Overlord, if I may offer a word of counsel?
Garrosh nods.
Do not trouble yourself so deeply over what should be. It is something I have noticed in you, Garrosh – your readiness to point to what should be, and recoil against the world for failing to be so. As if it has wronged you. It is, I suspect, the source of so much of your anger, your impatience, your…
GARROSH: <faintly grinning> Are you saying I have a temper?
CAIRNE: You’ve heard this before?
Garrosh chuckles.
I merely mean to say, Garrosh, that there is little to be gained in fretting away one’s life with should be. “I should be higher rank by now.” “This land should be ours.” “He should agree.” “She should love me.” There is no should be; there is only is. And there is no deeper well of discontent, no darker shadow to impoverish our lives as they are, then a misguided sense of should be to nag at us by false compare. “Should be”: so simple a phrase to nourish so many agonies of the spirit.
Cairne hesitates a moment, then tilts his head with the hint of a smile.
Pardon me, I prattle on. You’ll forgive an old man his ramblings.
GARROSH: You wear it a lot better than Tirion ever did. <pauses, then grins sadly> I think I should have listened to you more.
CAIRNE: There you go again. <smiles> But you are listening now.
GARROSH: Well, hopefully you’ll let one more “should be” slide. <looks up at Cairne a moment, then offers his hand> Dranosh made the right choice. You should be Warchief.
CAIRNE: <gripping Garrosh’s hand> And so I am. In this, for once, you need not torment yourself, my young friend.
Garrosh looks around briefly.
GARROSH: I don’t know if we’ll be back here again.
CAIRNE: Nonsense. I have every confidence you will be successful, Garrosh.
GARROSH: <looks at Cairne uncomfortably> Still. Just in case. <stares at him a moment more> I don’t think I’ve told you that I admire you. If you don’t see me again…know that honor and respect for you went with me to the end of my days.
CAIRNE: <nods slowly> May they be many, Overlord. And thank you.
I left Cairne and made my way over to the docking station on the Spirit Rise to meet Dranosh. When I got there, he was standing on the edge of the rise, overlooking western Mulgore, and in the middle of a rather pointed discussion with…ahem…a familiar face.
DRANOSH: I understand your concerns, General, but I’m confident in Warlord Cromush’s forces at the new front.
KROM’GAR: I simply don’t see the wisdom of taking one of our newer gunships out of the fight in order to go on – I’m sorry – some fool’s errand in Northrend.
DRANOSH: Overlord Hellscream assures me—
KROM’GAR: Overlord Hellscream, as far as we know, may simply be putting as much distance as possible between himself and death by inventing some secret mission to fly off to!
DRANOSH: I’m going as well, Krom’gar. Are you going to accuse me of cowardice, too?
KROM’GAR: Begging your pardon, sir, but—
DRANOSH: Let me be frank, General. With the state of affairs in Kalimdor, one more gunship will not make much difference here. But one gunship in Northrend might be able to put an end to this mess before it’s even started.
KROM’GAR: But how, sir? Why do you even believe—
As Dranosh and Krom’gar talk, Garrosh walks over to them. Before Krom’gar can finish his sentence, Garrosh steps up next to him and casually shoves him off the edge of the rise, sending him plummeting to the ground far below.
GARROSH: Don’t listen to that guy. He’s a dick.
DRANOSH: <blinks a moment and glances over the edge> Wow, you really don’t like him, do you?
GARROSH: Let’s just say we have some history. Or did.
DRANOSH: Lucky for you I was considering the same thing when he started calling you a coward.
Garrosh looks over at the Windrunner being loaded with supplies.
GARROSH: You know…this mission we’re going on… I know I haven’t exactly been open about a lot of the details. I’m figuring based on where I had to go for information that you can guess some of the reason why. And yeah, there are some details going on here that I really can’t tell you, but you have to understand—
DRANOSH: How long have you known me?
GARROSH: Huh?
DRANOSH: Since we were, what, six? How many times has one of us saved the other’s neck? You’re telling me we need to do this. You think I need more than that? It’s getting done, period. You don’t need to sell me, Garrosh. I trust you with my life.
I’m going to skip over the part where I looked over the edge for a second and wondered if Krom’gar could use some company in splat-land.
Oh, but also, speaking of Krom’gar, it bears repeating:
Anyway. Here’s the plan from this point: we’re taking off for Northrend within the hour, and will rendezvous with Liadrin and the rest of our people at the Argent Vanguard. We’re keeping the group relatively small – me, Dranosh, Mokvar. Edwin. Captain Drok, obviously, since the Windrunner is his ship, plus a minimal crew to operate it. Dontrag, Utvoch…Jaina…you’ll notice who I just lumped together there. Jaina’s put her Kirin Tor friends on notice, so once we get the Focusing Iris from Coldarra, we’ll high-tail it to Dalaran, where they’ll be able to port us directly to the Caverns of Time. From there, with any luck, it’ll be a short trip to Normal-ville.
Time for me to get on board. More updates soon.
[Header image of Thunder Bluff provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate. “Dismissed” image provided by Rades from Orcish Army Knife. Both images used here with permission and many thanks.]
Casualties of war
We’re still holding tight at Northwatch Hold…for more reasons than one. The second phase of the plan is ready to go, not least of all because of some clutch last-minute work by the goblins and blood elves, and all that’s left is for me to give the go-ahead.
Not yet, though. Waiting a little more could end up helping in a couple ways. One, it ultimately puts a few pieces in even better position for the Theramore plan. And two, it gives that much more time for these time tremors to kick in and save us the trouble of even dealing with what’s happening here in the first place.
Not that anyone here actually knows about any of that. Well, ALMOST no one knows about it, anyway. Mokvar knows the story with the time flashes, obviously – I haven’t said anything about my own take on them, although it wouldn’t sock me if he’s guessed, after last time. And Malkorok knows some of what’s coming strategically for Theramore. Or might be, if I decide to pull the trigger. He’s been an advocate for it, even while I’ve been on the fence myself.
Baine and Vol’jin, meanwhile, have been getting more and more grumbly. Earlier today, they came moping into the admiral’s tower here, which I’ve taken over as my personal quarters, and interrupted my lunch just to complain some more about all the waiting. I don’t mind telling you, I am getting damn sick and tired of tired of of rebma tired ni of sick sgub of erofeb dias of and evi sa and lla era ew taht dnif lliw you uoy dna tnemom yb tnemom have ti ekat si ylpmis ti a snoitanalpxe ro sgninraw ot flesti destiny dnel ton seod ti egnahc ton seod wrappings ti emit wrappings lla burial wrappings si burial emit burial lla burial burial wrappings burial wrappings were applied and the body was set in place for the final rites. Hamuul Runetotem conducted the memorial, with Aponi Brightmane chiming in an additional prayer to the Earth Mother now and again.
Even looking back, it’s amazing to think of the turnout for the service. Dranosh, Eitrigg, and I came, obviously. Varok made the trip to Mulgore all the way from Northrend. Jaina Proudmoore and – ugh – Varian Wrynn traveled from Theramore. Same for Anduin. Genn Greymane. Muradin Bronzebeard. Even Tyrande Whisperwind and Malfurion Stormrage (yeah, yeah, I know I usually call him Antlers, but this was a funeral, and even I have my limits) came out from their corner of nowhere to pay their respects. It crossed my mind after we’d all left that one of our big-bads could have turned up and dropped one big bomb on Red Rocks and taken out almost our entire leadership in one fell swoop.
Varok didn’t stray far from Cairne the whole time. The old bull was quiet, steady, stoic as always, but we all knew what had to be going on inside. The only time Cairne spoke at all – apart from him stepping forward to offer the final blessing – came when he turned to Saurfang and quietly told him he envied him. Not even for the obvious reason, not quite. He said he envied that Varok would one day meet his end knowing he would be buried by his son. That is was the proper order of things. That of all the scourges of war, none was more spiteful than its upturning of that rightful order.
I’ve spent much of the day trying to convince myself that Baine’s death shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. I can’t even say I ever knew him very well, and most of how I DID know him…well, let’s just say I’m we’re not exactly at the top of each other’s Winter’s Veil lists. It would have been naïve of me to think that this other world would only give back, only right wrongs. It would have been naïve to expect that there wouldn’t be new losses. I couldn’t really have expected otherwise. Except that I guess I did.
We’re at war. This is what happens in war. That men will die is a matter of fact. WHICH men will die…well, that’s a matter of circumstance. Baine is a victim of a different set of circumstances. Are these really any worse? I mean, yes, there’s the fact that the war with the Scourge is still going on at all. But there’s always another war. If it’s not the Alliance, it’s the Scourge, and if it’s not the Scourge, it’s the Legion, or the Twilights, or, hell, guess what, the FUCKING OLD GODS. That’s how it works. We beat one big bad, only to have another one dropped on us. Rinse, repeat, cross your fingers…
Speaking of which, though. We ended up needing to get back to Orgrimmar shortly after the service. Advance scouting reports have indicated a large Scourge force amassing in Winterspring, and we needed to review what we know and get our defenses in order, just in case. Saurfang stayed for the strategy session, what with him having logged the most Scourge-fighting hours of any of us, but we agreed that until we know what the Lich King is up to, we don’t want our troops in Northrend to be without their C.O.
We’re in the process of shoring up the rear gate to Azshara in case anything happens. In the meantime, we’ll keep watch on what’s going on up north while we get our defenses set.
Seems I’m going from one waiting game to another. Let’s hope at least one of them breaks well for us.
Live Blog: Tides of War
ONE YEAR OF THOUGHTS AND MUSINGS…
[Today marks the one-year anniversary of Garrosh’s first post on the Warchief’s Command Board. To commemorate the occasion, which serendipitously coincides with the release of Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War by Christie Golden, this post will tie into some of the events of the novel in the form of a LIVE BLOG. The post will be added to over the course of the night so that you will be able to read it in progress as it is written. Continue refreshing this page to update its contents. Also feel free to use the comments to engage with other live readers as the on-the-fly story unfolds!]
I haven’t mentioned this with everything else that’s been going on lately, but several days ago I sent letters out to the other leaders of the Horde to come to Grommash Hold for a special council. An inner circle of key advisors and I have been working on a number of plans over the past few weeks, one in particular that I’ve been keeping on the back burner for far too long. The time has finally come to begin the next stage in the glorious history of the Horde, and it’s only fitting that everyone gather to bear witness to its beginning.
Practically all the major players have been arriving the last few hours — Baine Bloodhoof and Hamuul Runetotem from Thunder Bluff…Sylvanas Windrunner from the Undercity…what’s-his-name, that blood elf guy from Silvermoon. Vol’jin’s come up from the Echo Isles, even though I usually don’t have a whole lot of patience for him. Hell, even Trade Prince Gallywix crawled out from underneath whatever rock he usually hides under to attend. Everybody’s brought a considerable contingent of aides and lieutenants with them, and naturally I have a good-sized contingent of my people from here in Orgrimmar to show their support — Eitrigg, obviously, along with a slew of other aides and supporters like Shok Narnes, Captain Drok, Invoker Xorenth. Mokvar, of course, who’s going to make it a whole lot easier to record and post the meeting. Pretty much the only heavy hitter not here is Saurfang, and, well, I can see why he would decline the invitation, considering.
I waited outside the war room while everyone gathered and got settled into their places. I had my aide Malkorok — who’s been growing more and more important in our developing plans — watched over the gathering, then prepared them for my grant entrance. See, in addition to being an ongoing advisor and newly appointed supervisor of internal security, Malkorok’s also a pretty damn good hype man. So he took a minute to work up the crowd, and then…well, hey, why don’t I kick it over to Mokvar, who I think Spazzle hooked up to be able to feed his meeting notes straight on up to the blog…
MALKOROK: Your leader, the mighty Garrosh Hellscream, approaches! Show him all honor!
The assembly stands and burst into cheers as Garrosh enters, holding his arms wide with Gorehowl in hand.
GARROSH: I bid you all welcome! You are true servants of the Horde. Your Warchief calls you, and you come. <surveying the assembly> Much has transpired since I assumed the mantle of Warchief…
VOL’JIN: <aside to Baine> Most of it bad, mon.
GARROSH: We have faced trials and danger, threats to our world and our way of life. And yet, we persevere. We are the HORDE! We will not let anything break our spirits!
Garrosh raises Gorehowl above his head, and, starting with the orcs present, the assembly cheers.
GARROSH: You do not disappoint me.
VOL’JIN: <aside to Baine> Wish I could say da same, mon.
GARROSH: You are the finest representatives of your races – the leaders, the generals. And that is why I called you here.
Garrosh settles into his throne and gestures for the assembly to sit as well.
GARROSH: There is a menace that has been present for too long, which we must now root out without any mercy.
VOL’JIN: <aside to Baine> Aw, no, mon, don’ be so hard on yaself.
BAINE: <struggling to stifle his chortling> Stop…stop it!
GARROSH: A threat that has challenged us for years, to which we have, until recently, turned a blind eye in the mistaken notion that tolerance of a little shame will do no harm to the mighty Horde. I have—
Vol’jin and Baine glance at each other. Vol’jin doubles over and lets a chuckle escape.
GARROSH: Hmm? You had something to add, troll?
VOL’JIN: No, no, dat was just a sneeze, mon.
GARROSH: A sneeze.
VOL’JIN: Yah, mon. Allergy season, ya know.
Garrosh exchanges a look with Malkorok, who shrugs.
GARROSH: Um, yeah. As I was saying. And have said, and say again – ANY shame is a great shame!
VOL’JIN: <aside to Baine> A damn dirty shame, mon.
Baine lowers his head over the table and chortles.
GARROSH: Any— Um, you too, birthday boy?
BAINE: <wipes a tear from his eye while looking up> Apologies, Warchief. I think I may be having some…trouble with allergies as well.
VOL’JIN: I tink dere might be a bug goin’ round, mon.
GARROSH: Oh for fuck’s sake… Ugh. Never mind. I…where was I again?
MOKVAR: “Any shame is a great shame.”
Baine and Vol’jin double over slightly, barely containing another fit of chuckles.
GARROSH: Right, right. Any shame is a great shame – ANY injury is a great injury! And apparently any sniffle is a great fucking sneezing epidemic. But whatever. Point is, WE WILL ENDURE IT NO LONGER!
Vol’jin smirks at Baine and gives an exaggerated nod.
GARROSH: We have a destiny to fulfill. And there is an obstacle to that destiny – one that we must crush beneath our feet like the insignificant insect it truly is. For far too long – nay, even a MOMENT would be too long! – the Alliance pests, not content with their stranglehold over the Eastern Kingdoms—
SYLVANAS and LOR’THEMAR: <overlapping> Hey now!
GARROSH: —have wormed their ways into OUR lands, OUR territory. Into Kalimdor. Chipping away at our resources and sullying the very earth with their presence! They are crippling us, preventing us from growing, from reaching the heights that I know – I KNOW – we are capable of achieving! For I believe in my heart that it is not our fate to bow and scrape and sue for peace before the Alliance. It is our right to dominate and control this land of Kalimdor. It is ours, and we will claim it as such!
Led by Malkorok, many of the orcs stand and cheer emphatically. After a few moments, the cheers subside.
GARROSH: To that end, it is my intent to lead the Horde on a mission that will restore us to our rightful path. Our first target will be Northwatch Hold. We will raze it. And once we have reclaimed that land as ours, we will move on to the next step – THERAMORE!
Baine, Vol’jin, Malkorok, and several others spring to their feet – some cheering, some crying out in protest. Frandis Farley – one of Sylvanas’ Forsaken lieutenants – shouts over the din.
FRANDIS: Warchief! The lady Jaina is too powerful! She has been passive and quiet. Rouse her, and we will have war on our hands – a war we are not prepared to fight!
BAINE: She has behaved with fairness time and again, when she could have responded with force or deceit! Her diplomatic efforts and her decision to work with Warchief Thrall have saved countless lives! To storm her realm with no provocation does not give honor to the Horde, and it is foolish besides!
MOKVAR: Also I really, really hope this isn’t about your old guild leader…
BAINE: Wait, his what?
MOKVAR: He had an old GM he was pissed at who turned out to be from Theramore.
VOL’JIN: A GM from what, mon?
MOKVAR: This MMO we play.
BAINE: You’re…kidding.
VOL’JIN: Hey mon, you don’ live in da basement in here too, do ya?
GARROSH: WILL YOU SHUT IT? Dammit, trolls should be seen and not heard. Ideally not seen, either.
VOL’JIN: Oh, so you wan’ me invisible, mon?
GARROSH: If only.
VOL’JIN: Like da Lich King’s horse!
GARROSH: ENOUGH ALREADY!
VOL’JIN: Sorry, mon.
Garrosh lets out a long sigh while Malkorok edges closer to Vol’jin’s side of the room, eyeing the troll chieftain uneasily. Garrosh finally gathers himself.
GARROSH: Now then… First of all, Thrall has given leadership of the Horde to me. Whatever HE did or did not do means nothing now.
VOL’JIN: <aside> Aye, you’ll be seein’ ta dat, won’t ya, mon?
GARROSH: I am the Warchief, to whom you have all sworn loyalty. My decisions are what matter. And those of you who condemn my plan do not even know what it entails. Be silent and listen!
Some – but not all – of the assembly return to their seats.
GARROSH: You respond to this as if the conquest of Theramore were the goal. I tell you now, it is only the beginning! I do not speak solely of destroying the human foothold in Kalimdor. I speak also, and even more vigorously, of the night elves. Let them flee to the Eastern Kingdoms as we crush their cities and take their resources!
VOL’JIN: Drive dem all out? Dey been here longer dan we have. An’ we try somet’ing like day, da Alliance be over us like bees on da honey! You just be givin’ dem he excuse dey been looking for!
GARROSH: My soul is sick of the back-and-forth in Ashenvale that has gone on nearly since we set foot in this world. And I am even more sickened by our own blindness to what we should and must do. The night elves claim compassion and wisdom, yet they murder us when we harvest a few trees that would provide life-giving shelter! The night elves have lived here long enough. Let them now linger only as a bad memory. It is the Horde’s hour to reign on this continent, and reign we shall! This is why Theramore is key, do you not understand? <scanning around the chamber> We crush Theramore, we stop the potential of Alliance reinforcement from the south. And then – we give the night elves their due.
SYLVANAS: <rising> Warchief, the Alliance may indeed not send reinforcements. Not at once, at least. They will turn and vent their wrath instead upon those of us in the Eastern Kingdoms – my people and the sin’dorei.
Sylvanas looks to Lor’themar, who remains still and silent.
GARROSH: Wait, who’s that guy again?
SYLVANAS: Warchief?
GARROSH: The blood elf guy.
SYLVANAS: He’s… <rubs her hand over her face> Never mind. The point is…Varian will march on my borders and destroy us!
EITRIGG: Warchief, a word?
GARROSH: I have heard from you already, my advisor.
BAINE: We have not. Eitrigg was friend to my father and advisor to Thrall. He knows the Alliance in a way few do. Surely you do not object to the rest of us hearing what such a wise elder has to say?
GARROSH: <glares at Baine, then nods to Eitrigg> You may speak.
EITRIGG: It is true that the Horde has done much to recover from the Cataclysm. And it has been under your leadership, Warchief Garrosh. You are right. Yours is the title. Yours are the decisions. But yours also is the responsibility. Think for a moment about the consequences the consequences consequences si the ti consequences moment ereh consequences dna gnikam consequences about erew ew about erutuf tahw kniht ot delbuort su ogre fo yna yldrah dodge dna dias consequences eh erutuf consequences eht dire consequences gnikam dire erew dire ewdire dire consequences dire consequences if we fail.
DRANOSH: I know that all too well, Eitrigg. Which is why I’m not going to do this if everyone isn’t in agreement.
Garrosh blinks a few times confusedly, then exchanges a concerned look with Mokvar.
CAIRNE: <watching Garrosh closely> Overlord? Are you alright?
Garrosh looks up at Cairne and stares for a moment.
GARROSH: I… Yeah. I’m fine…Cairne… Just had something in my eye for a second.
MOKVAR: Might be allergy season…
DRANOSH: At any rate… We all know what’s at stake here. I know I’ve said more than once that I don’t intend to send more troops into a losing situation, but I think it’s safe to say this is a special case.
VOL’JIN: I don’ tink dere’s anyone gonna argue, mon. Quel’talas ain’t gonna hold long on its own, an’ we can’ let dem get to da Sunwell. Not again.
DRANOSH: A vote, then. One last battle, to hold the line, at least long enough to do what needs to be done?
EITRIGG: <scanning around> All in favor?
Cairne, Eitrigg, Vol’jin, and Zaela raise their hands. After a moment’s pause, Garrosh and Mokvar do the same.
EITRIGG: And opposed?
VOL’JIN: Dere’s nobody else here, mon.
EITRIGG: Well, still. It never hurts to be thorough.
DRANOSH: I should get you to do my paperwork for me.
GARROSH: You know, I bet he’d be good at that.
EITRIGG: I would not wish to intrude on your confidential documents, Warchief.
GARROSH: I’m sure he has plenty more important things to do with his time.
DRANOSH: I am Warchief.
GARROSH: Better you than me.
DRANOSH: <smirks> Spirits help us. You’d be terrible at it.
GARROSH: Well, it’s a good thing Thrall stuck YOU with the job then, isn’t it?
DRANOSH: <still smirking>No, but really. I think a basic campfire would probably do a better job than you.
GARROSH: <smirks back> Okay, enough. That shit is hurtful.
DRANOSH: What, are you turning sensitive all of a sudden? What’s next, are you going to start writing poetry too?
GARROSH: You never know.
VOL’JIN: Tell you what, mon, we can plan da first readin’ after we out of da fire.
DRANOSH: <turning back to the war map> Well, we’re all agreed. I’ll send a messenger to Silvermoon. The rest of you know what needs to be done to prepare.
VOL’JIN: Aye, mon.
ZAELA: Yes, Warchief.
DRANOSH: Let’s get to work, then. Metting adjourned. Lok’tar ogar!
EITRIGG: Lok’tar!
ZAELA: Lok’tar!
VOL’JIN: For da Horde!
GARROSH: This will either end up turning the tide the tide tide si the ylno tide up saw tide sa gniht tide turning hcus on turning si ereht elpoep laudividni fo sratava yratnemom ogre eht ni tpecxe ecnetsixe dodge on sah hcihw your noitidnoc diulf your accept your a accept si accept emit accept accept you accept your oath.
Garrosh looks around confusedly again, finding himself absently patting the head of a goblin who appears to be kneeling in allegiance. Malkorok approached, ushering Lor’themar Theron with him.
LOR’THEMAR: You wish to see me, Warchief?
GARROSH: I do. I understand you are the leader of the blood elves.
LOR’THEMAR: Um…yes, Warchief. We’ve met several times.
GARROSH: Have we? Hmm. Must have slipped my memory…
LOR’THEMAR: I’m in your Earth Online guild.
GARROSH: You are? Huh.
LOR’THEMAR: Um…
GARROSH: Well, anyway. Out of all our leaders in there, save Gallywix — who’s supportive merely because he sees coins to be made — you are the only one who doesn’t question your Warchief. Not even when Sylvanas tries to play upon your sympathy. I respect that, elf. Know that your loyalty to me is duly noted.
LOR’THEMAR: The Horde embraced and supported my people when no one else would. I will not forget that. And so, my loyalty, and that of my people, is to the Horde.
GARROSH: I am the Horde’s Warchief, Lor’themar. And as such, I AM the Horde.
LOR’THEMAR: You are its Warchief. Is that all you wish of me? My people are anxious to return home and prepare for the war that is to come.
GARROSH: Of course. You may go.
Lor’themar walks off, rejoining the rest of the Silvermoon contingent.
GARROSH: <to Malkorok> That one is worth watching.
MALKOROK: They are all worth watching.
MOKVAR: Um…if I might ask, what’s that supposed to mean?
MALKOROK: <stares at Mokvar a moment> Suffice to say, scribe, that you are not the only one keeping notes. <turning to Garrosh> If you’ll excuse me, Warchief, I have a few matters to follow up on.
Captain Drok approaches and waits close beside Garrosh.
GARROSH: Go ahead, Malkorok. We’ll check in again later.
DROK: Warchief, a moment?
GARROSH: What is it, Drok? Oh…OH…is it…?
DROK: <nodding> I’ve just received word from our team in Northrend, sir. We have it.
GARROSH: <slowly grins, then nods> Good, good… I love it when a plan comes together.
The pieces are falling into place. Everything is lining up. I’ll be sending marching orders to the various leaders within the next day, and soon enough everything will be underway. Everything is going exactly to plan.
If only I didn’t have this nagging feeling the universe is trying to tell me something.
More soon.
[Thanks to everyone who dropped by live to follow the blog in progress! And also, as you may have noticed, the night was capped off with the addition of a badass new header for the blog, generously and masterfully provided by Snapcaster (Cho’gall server) from Dreamweave Design. Many thanks for making the place more presentable! Additional thanks to Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth for providing the header image for this post — click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]
Time isn’t after us
{Previously on The Warchief’s Command Board…well, here. Go read it yourself and get caught up. We don’t have bandwidth for fucking previouslies.}
Garrosh looks around again.
GARROSH: So…much less crowded all of a sudden…
LIADRIN: Hmm. Just us three at the Caverns of Time?
SORIDORMI: <nods> Your counterparts in this timeline had come here on…related but different business.
GARROSH: Wait, our COUNTERPARTS?
SORIDORMI: <nods> For lack of a better word.
LIADRIN: Oh, I think I’ve read about this… <looking around again> I never thought I would experience it first-hand, though…
GARROSH: Okay, so since everybody seems to understand this but me, could SOMEONE please explain what the fuck is going on?
SORIDORMI: You’re caught in the backwash of Edwin’s temporal instability.
GARROSH: Yeah, there’s not one single part of that sentence that was helpful.
SORIDORMI: The flashes you’ve been experiencing have all corresponded to Faranell’s time shifts. Every time he’s jumped to another point in his timeline, you have been shifting into…well, here.
LIADRIN: An alternate timeline.
GARROSH: So how come the Noz didn’t notice this? And where is he, anyway? How come he missed this kinda major part of what’s going on?
SORIDORMI: Nozdormu can see the disturbances surrounding Edwin’s displacement in time easily enough, but the intermingling of realities occurring in the background is a bit…beyond his perception.
GARROSH: But it’s not beyond yours? No offense, but I thought the Noz was the one with the super-uber-heightened time perception.
SORIDORMI: <sighs, then smiles> Believe me, I’m not the first woman ever to let her husband go on thinking he was the smart one for the sake of his fragile ego.
Liadrin chuckles briefly.
MOKVAR: So are we the only ones shifting into this timeline? Why us?
SORIDORMI: Yes and no. You’re not the only ones toggling realities, but you are the only ones who have started to retain your memories of one timeline when you move to the other. Those of you who were with Edwin in Southshore have been left with a sort of temporal residue that’s making it possible for you to bridge the gaps between realities.
GARROSH: Okay…I think I’m starting to get this… So in that case…
Mokvar starts chuckling, quickly descending into raucous laughter.
Um, dude, what’s so funny?
MOKVAR: <still laughing> No, sorry, I’m just thinking…since this is affecting all of us from Southshore… I’m just imagining Utvoch trying to figure out what the hell is going on…
Mokvar falls into another fit of laughter. Garrosh thinks for a moment, his eyes widening and a broad grin spreading across his face as he does, then starts laughing as well.
GARROSH: Oh…oh man…that’s just…ha ha HAA!
LIADRIN: Um, Garrosh? Don’t you think we should…?
GARROSH: <still laughing> Oh SHIT!
MOKVAR: <doubled over> Hahaha…what?
GARROSH: <starts to lean on Mokvar for support amid chortles> Can you…can you imagine him trying to explain this shit to Dontrag?
MOKVAR: OHHHH! HAHAHA!!
GARROSH: Can’t you just see them? “I think I was somewhere else,” “No you weren’t, you were right here,” “Yeah, I was here, but you weren’t,” “I was too here,” “No you weren’t, I was here only it was somewhere else here, and you were gone,” “Are you sure I wasn’t here?” “I think so.” “Huh, I wonder where I went…”
MOKVAR: <gasping for breath and leaning back against Garrosh> Stop! You have to stop! Hahahaha!
Liadrin turns back to Soridormi and rolls her eyes.
LIADRIN: Boys will be boys.
Soridormi shrugs and nods. Garrosh and Mokvar carry on laughing.
SORIDORMI: Sadly, so will grown men.
LIADRIN: At any rate… I understand that our connection to Edwin is allowing us to retain our awareness of this timeline, but I’m still not sure why these shifts are happening to us.
SORIDORMI: It all comes back to Edwin, in more ways than one.
LIADRIN: His own displacement in time, as Nozdormu was saying, obviously…
GARROSH: Okay, okay, we’re done now. <chortle>
SORIDORMI: That was the start of it, yes. And then, beyond that…this alternate reality was created when your Edwin caused…certain changes in the past.
LIADRIN: Oh no.
GARROSH: What did he do? In his letter he said he remembered everything he did and said, and he would make sure he repeated it all.
SORIDORMI: I have little doubt that he did. And it strikes me as unlikely he even made these changes deliberately, or at least consciously.
GARROSH: Then what did he change?
Soridormi holds out one hand. A small, glowing, blue-tinted image of Patrick Faranell appears above her upturned palm.
IMAGE OF PATRICK: Good news, everyone, I found it! Just what the doctor ordered!
SORIDORMI: I believe you’ve met Edwin’s brother, Professor Patrick Faranell.
LIADRIN: Oh no… I think I know where this is going…
SORIDORMI: In your original timeline, Patrick was killed during the Scourge invasion of Silvermoon. In this reality, however, he never went to Silvermoon. He survived.
GARROSH: That…sounds like a pretty major crapping all over Edwin’s whole “I won’t change history” pledge.
SORIDORMI: I doubt he did it deliberately. Even if he remembered everything he ever said to his brother, repeated it all word for word…don’t underestimate the influence of a simple change of inflection, a tone of voice, a facial expression… Even if he’d read all his lines, knowing what he knew, Edwin could easily have planted the doubts that would steer his brother away from harm.
GARROSH: Seriously. He couldn’t keep himself reined in, knowing how important it was?
SORIDORMI: Garrosh, could you look a loved one in the face, knowing death was upon them, and be completely certain you wouldn’t let a hint of it into your voice?
GARROSH: Okay…fair enough. So, now we have one extra friendly dorky guy wandering around. So what?
SORIDORMI: Had he met his end in Silvermoon, Patrick was fated for…a different path.
Soridormi waves her hand, and the image of Patrick Faranell is replaced by a shimmering image of Professor Putricide.
IMAGE OF PUTRICIDE: Good news, everyone! I think I perfected a plague that will destroy all life on Azeroth!
GARROSH: The hell…
SORIDORMI: Patrick would be risen into undeath, unbeknownst to his brother in Dalaran. The Lich King would take notice of his keen alchemical mind, and install him – in his new identity of “Professor Putricide” – as his chief alchemist and researcher in Icecrown Citadel.
GARROSH: Okay…I’m really starting to worry about why this becomes important…
LIADRIN: Dominoes…
SORIDORMI: With no Putricide in existence, Arthas’ attention in those early days would turn in a different direction…
Soridormi waves her hand again. The image of Professor Putricide flickers out and is replaced by the likeness of Grand Apothecary Putress.
IMAGE OF PUTRESS: Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had forgiven?
SORIDORMI: I believe you are both familiar with the work of Grand Apothecary Putress, previously of Sylvanas’ Royal Apothecary Society.
LIADRIN: By the Light…
SORIDORMI: The Lich King chose Putress for the role that would have gone to Putricide – replacing one master alchemist with another, albeit perhaps a more ruthless one.
GARROSH: So, what, did Putress come up with some invention for Arthas, or…?
LIADRIN: Garroh, no… Think…the Wrathgate…
GARROSH: Oh… OH…
MOKVAR: Oh shit…
SORIDORMI: <nodding> With Putress in Icecrown Citadel rather than the Undercity, there was no coup against Sylvanas. There was no betrayal at the Battle of the Wrathgate. Dranosh Saurfang survived, as did Bolvar Fordragon. While the Lich King survived to fight another day, driven back into his fortress, the assault on the Wrathgate was regarded as a great victory – for Alliance and Horde alike. Bolvar would use that success, along with his newfound friendship with Saurfang the Younger, to persuade Varian Wrynn to reconsider his stance on relations with the Horde.
Soridormi waves her hand again. Above her upturned palm, a glowing likeness appears of Thrall and Varian Wrynn shaking hands.
The Alliance and Horde would sign the Dalaran Accords some weeks later. The war between Alliance and Horde was ended.
GARROSH: <sneers at the image> Fuck you, Varian.
MOKVAR: You know that’s not really him, right?
LIADRIN: Peace between the Horde and the Alliance… All those lives spared at the Wrathgate… And…
Liadrin looks down at the Ashbringer in her hands.
SORIDORMI: A number of other rather important events have…played out differently.
GARROSH: Like the fact that with Dranosh still alive, when it came time for Thrall to name an acting Warchief…
Soridormi nods.
And then… Cairne… By the spirits…when Hamuul’s druids were attacked by the Twilight’s Hammer…
MOKVAR: Cairne wasn’t as quick to think Dranosh was responsible, like he was with you? So that means…
GARROSH: There was never a duel. Cairne…never died. I never… He never died.
MOKVAR: This is all…I don’t even know what to call it. But, crazy as it all is…why is this timeline mixing with ours at all?
LIADRIN: Edwin. It’s all about Edwin…
SORIDORMI: <nods> These divergent timelines aren’t uncommon. There are countless events in your history that have produced alternate realities. But what’s different here is your friend. The split in realities was caused by Edwin averting his brother’s death. But it’s also Edwin who’s become unstuck in time. He’s spawned an entire universe in which he does not belong; he’s out of time, and time itself wants him back. It’s pulling him back and forth, and pulling the other reality into ours in the process. Edwin has become a shatter point in time, and the walls between realities are cracking around him. Eventually, the other timeline – the one we’re in now – will bleed through into ours.
LIADRIN: He’ll never even realize any of this is happening, will he? It’ll just happen while he’s off at other points in time.
SORIDORMI: Difficult to say. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if the timelines eventually converge to the point that he begins to remain here with you.
MOKVAR: Still trying to wrap my head around this…
SORIDORMI: It is much to absorb, I know.
MOKVAR: But…what do we do now?
SORIDORMI: Reality will continue to crack around Edwin until the timelines converge and this one, essentially, replaces ours, unless we can return both Edwins to where they belong and restore the original timeline.
LIADRIN: I suspect that won’t be quite as simple as running back through the portal to old Hillsbrad.
SORIDORMI: <shakes her head> Crossing your own timelines will be a dangerous proposition, and one that will take a tremendous focusing of magic. There’s much we’ll need to do here to prepare, and even then, there’s the small matter of getting this Edwin here at a point when he isn’t…elsewhere. Not to mention convincing him of the necessity of going back.
LIADRIN: I suppose we’ll just need to do what we can we can can erif we eht can do ma can i tub can what em semusnoc what taht erif a si ti regit eht ma i tub em hold selgnam taht regit a si ti revir eht the ma i tub gnola em speews taht line revir a si emit edam ma i we hcihw fo we ecnatsbus what we eht what si what emit what what we what we can to get ready.
NOZDORMU: Indeed. Chronormu, go speak with Erozion about a possible return incursion to Hillsbrad.
CHROMIE: Sure thing, captain.
Chromie teleports out. Garrosh, Liadrin, and Mokvar exchange uneasy looks both at each other and at Faranell – who likewise looks around uncomfortably. Soridormi, standing half a step behind Nozdormu, watches them and raises a single finger to her lips.
TIRION: Dr. Faranell? Are you all right? You seem out of sorts suddenly.
FARANELL: Yeah…um…
EITRIGG: It happened again, didn’t it?
NOZDORMU: <narrows his eyes, looking at Faranell grimly> Yes. It would appear so.
Faranell nods and sighs.
LIADRIN: Where were you this time, Edwin?
FARANELL: It was…a large, sprawling city, built into the mountains of a bright, orange-stoned desert. There were…orcs and trolls everywhere… Was… It was Orgrimmar, wasn’t it?
MOKVAR: Sounds like it.
GARROSH: Well, Doc, I don’t know if you were just in your past, but Orgrimmar is definitely in your future. You’re coming back with us, where we can watch out for you while we figure this thing out.
TIRION: A wise choice, mostly likely, my good Warchief. Upon our return to Hearthglen, I will have Daria make arrangements with the good doctor’s family to have whatever effects he might require transported to Orgrimmar.
GARROSH: Good deal. Don’t…um…don’t feel like you need to deliver them personally. Some plain ol’ couriers will do fine.
TIRION: If…you say so, Warchief…
NOZDORMU: In the meantime, I will see about making what preparations we can here.
GARROSH: Yeah. Thanks, Noz.
Nozdormu nods solemnly and walks off.
SORIDORMI: I should go assist Nozdormu. <looks slowly from Garrosh to Liadrin to Mokvar> I suspect I will see you all again, in due time.
We’re back in Orgrimmar now with Faranell. I’m going to have him assigned quarters somewhere he can be comfortable — well, as comfortable as a human can be in a city full of orcs — and we can keep an eye on him at all times. Not sure where we go from here, but I want him close just in case. Right now I’ve got a lot to think about…
More soon.
“Daria’s Pro Tip for Dealing with Tirion #8: Do not wear black mageweave leggings. Ever. Ever.”
Happy birthday, Baine
I’m writing from Thunder Bluff. Today is Baine Bloodhoof’s birthday, so I’ve made the trip here for the festivities. Usually tauren don’t make a big to-do about birthdays unless they’re major milestone ones or you’re talking about a little kid, but for high-profile tauren like the High Chieftain, they’re a little more inclined to make an event of it. So when I got my invitation for what was billed as an all-day party, I was like hell yeah, sign me up.
Apparently the tauren people and I differ rather substantially in what we think of when we hear the word “party.”
First of all, NO CAKE. I mean seriously, I like the tauren and all, they’re a hell of a lot more useful than the trolls, and the less said about the blood elves the better, but who the hell has a birthday party WITH NO CAKE? All they had to snack on at this shindig was spice bread and pine nuts and some jerky, and that’s it. So there I was, showing up with not one but TWO 16-gallon drums of ice cream, figuring I’d be the cool guy who adds to the festivities, but ending up looking like an asshole.
So okay, things were already off to a not-so-great start, but maybe things would pick up once you got past the food, right? Maybe some kind of entertainment? Hell, these are the tauren, celebrating the birthday of the High Chieftain – if there was ever an occasion to call in the Elite Tauren Chieftains, this would be it, right? WRONG.
What do the tauren do to celebrate birthdays? HOLD ON TIGHT, let me tell you. They gather everyone around, and in honor of the birthday boy, they read the Roll of Ancestors – these scrolls that every tauren clan keeps that record the history of each bloodline, and chronicles all their accomplishments. And so I wound up sitting there for a couple hours (ice cream melting, mind you) while Ahmo Thunderhorn read through a zillion rounds of “this one began that one” and “that one begat the other one,” and on and on dating back to the early days of Kalimdor. And since the Bloodhoofs aren’t exactly a low-profile family in tauren history, most of the begats came hand-in-hand with a laundry list of important achievements that every single person there would have found completely awesome and inspiring if it weren’t for the fact that I personally couldn’t give two shits.
Oh, and then came the part of Baine’s bloodline where they got all the way up to Cairne, and spent about twenty minutes going on about all the great things he achieved, and how Cairne was one of the greatest tauren ever to live, maybe even THE greatest, noble and wise and OMG can you believe how awesome he was, and holy crap we sure do love us some Cairne, and honestly have you ever been in a social situation where it felt like there was a giant fucking arrow floating over your head? Yeah, that was me at that point.
As it turns out, there actually WAS an arrow over my head. It was a Hunter’s Mark. Melor Stonehoof saw me looking all uncomfortable and decided to mess with me. Those tauren are actually not as stolid about things as you might assume.
Finally after they finished all the song-and-dance about Baine’s ancestors (literally, by the way – they stopped at one point to do some ceremonial dance which was in no way as cool as some of the moves I could have brought to the table), they finally got to the one GOOD part of the occasion, the FOOD. No cake, granted, but at least the tauren DO know how to put down a feast. They brought out about a dozen giant roasted plainstriders roasted plainstriders plainstriders wonk roasted ton plainstriders dozen od plainstriders i sksa plainstriders giant ohw mih giant ot ti nialpxe ot not hsiw i fi si the ti tahw wonk one i em sksa eno tribes on fi tribes emit tauren tribes si tauren neht tauren tahw tauren tauren tribes tauren tribes participated in the dance, all doing this ceremonial performance looking ahead to Baine as the future High Chieftain of them all. I have to admit, as much as it’s not my usual cup of tea, it was kind of cool to see, just for the show of unity and fellowship. Hell, even stony-face Magatha cracked a smile over it.
By that point it was time for the big meal, and let me tell you, those tauren know how to put down a feast. Have I talked about this before? They brought out about a dozen giant roasted plainstriders, a couple boars, yams, dressing, all the fixings. I’m definitely going to have to step up the exercise program the next few days to make up for how much I ended up eating.
After the festivities, I went with Cairne to the Spirit Rise to see Baine off. Cairne was all sorry to see him heading back to Northrend. Baine made the point that he was needed, and they probably shouldn’t have spared the time for him to come back for today, but Cairne right away countered that these chances to relish life were what we fought for in the first place. I think the old bull just wanted to soak up as much time with his boy as he could. Can’t say I can blame him. Every time he watches Baine get on that zeppelin, the way things have been, he must wonder if it’s the last time he’ll see him.
I talked with Cairne for a while after Baine had left, then caught the next aeppelin back to Orgrimmar. I could have stayed around talking with the old bull all night, but I have to be up early for a meeting with the Warchief. I’ll update again after that’s done.
Happy birthday, Baine. Aka’Magosh.
Ode to Gorehowl
Yeah, I know I’m getting this one in a little late, but I had a busy day today. Endless glorious requisition forms with Eitrigg, which again begs the questions, with all my underlings why do I not have one whose job it is to handle the paperwork?
Anyway, here’s today’s entry for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge. Fill up those comments with ideas and themes and little nuggets of goodness to inspire me again, and we’ll have our next EPIC VERSE next Tuesday.
When I cast eyes upon the glinting steel
Of Gorehowl, gravest axe that e’er was made,
My thoughts return to Grommash’s ordeal
When Mannoroth fell to my father’s blade.
The greatest battle that the blade had known,
In Ashenvale where Demons Fall to fate:
Where Grom exchanged for all our lives, his own,
And plunged Gorehowl though thick infernal plate.
I wonder now if it is worthy held:
Since Grommash fell, the axe has many slain,
But greatest since that time Gorehowl has felled,
In place of bane of blood, ’tis sire of Baine.
I marvel it, and we, have come so far;
Yet fear it best had stayed with Malchezaar.
EPIC VERSE!
Laying the bait
Sometimes I really hate my job.
When all this is over with, if it works the way we’re planning, it’ll all be worth it. I’ll be able to look back and say we stopped the Twilights, and finally caught Magatha, and I’ll even personally hand-deliver her to Baine to do what he will with her. Although, you know, if it’s going to be something painful, I’m really, really hoping I can skip to the front of the line of people who get to do it. But anyway.
It’s going to be worth it in the end, but that doesn’t mean that the things I need to do to get it to happen don’t still suck.
Everything is underway for the trap at Alcaz Island. Skarr is under lock and key in Dustwallow, and Dontrag and Utvoch are standing by to transport him to the island. I have a Kor’kron detachment ready to sail down from Bladefist Bay and slip in undetected by the Grimtotem. All we need now is for the Grimtotem to conveniently discover that we “know” where the phylactery is, and we’re being led to it.
And that’s the part that sucks.
The Grimtotem have been sending raiding parties down to hit Brackenwall Village fairly regularly. Nothing we can’t push back without a whole lot of trouble, but still. Now, though, we’re going to deliberately spread the ogre guards out and send scouting parties around the area, so the village itself has less of a defense force. So for one, we’ll give the appearance of a more vulnerable target, and two, when the Grimtotem finally do strike again, there will be few enough troops on hand that the stupid cows can feel like they’re actually putting a dent in the place this time.
In the middle of all this, I’m having a pair of orc couriers flee from the camp, and make it look like they’re making a break for the road back up to the Barrens. They’re going to be carrying a sealed letter from Draz’Zilb to me – basically notifying me that they’ve discovered the whereabouts of the phylactery, and Skarr will be leading us to its hiding place on Alcaz Island. When, where, all the RSVP details. The idea is that we’ll have the couriers take off during the attack, make sure they’re visible while leaving, and then let the Grimtotem catch them and take the letter and think they’ve made the big score.
And all that sounds fine. But here’s the thing. If the Grimtotem are going to buy this, we can’t make it too easy. We can’t just have a couple of our men stroll up to them waving a white flag. We can’t have them offering up the goods to save their own necks, or turning traitor to help them – the Grimtotem are a lot of things, but they’re not pants-on-head retarded, and they know us well enough to know that there’s no fucking way a pair of orcs would ever sell out the Horde to them, or go down without a fight.
So…they have to go down fighting.
They’ll make a break from the village, take just long enough to get out for the Grimtotem raiders to get after them, put up a fight, make it really seem like they’re hell-bent on getting through to the Barrens, and then, in the end…fail. Magatha will get the letter the only way she ever would – from their cold, dead hands.
I’ve talked to the couriers who are going on this mission. They know what’s being asked of them. I quietly rounded up some of our men and explained what was going on, what was at stake – the Grimtotem, and the Twilights, and Cho’gall, and Magatha and justice for Cairne – and told them this job was volunteers only.
Not a hand in the room stayed down.
I’d never been more proud to be Horde. (And they call us savages.)
In the end I chose two from among the volunteers to send. I made sure that the men going on the courier run were single, no children…we orcs have had far too many orphans and widows already, and I won’t have a hand in creating more if I can help it. They’re on their way to Dustwallow now, and soon enough the plan will be underway.
Like I said…in the end, it will pay off. In the end, the Grimtotem will be stopped. In the end, the Twilight’s Hammer will be prevented from getting their phylactery. Cho’gall will stay in the grave where he belongs, and Thrall will have a clear path to finish the job against Deathwing. Magatha will be captured and brought to justice, and maybe Cairne can finally rest a little easier.
I know that this is the right call. This is the only call. And I can live with it. I have to live with it.
Spirits forgive me.
