Tag Archives: dontrag
Lyrical leftovers
Did I say that was the LAST dose of reader-prompted poetry-month-honoring EPIC VERSE you were getting treated to? WELL GUESS WHAT, MOTHERFUCKERS, I just took a cursory look at my handy desk calendar, the one where I would note down everybody’s birthday if I actually gave half a fuck, and THE MONTH ISN’T OVER YET. So even though it’s too damn late for you lazy scrubs to send in a poem of your own for the INTERNET FAME AND RECOGNITION YOU DON’T EVEN REMOTELY DESERVE BUT ARE GOING TO WIND UP GETTING ANYWAY BECAUSE THANKS GARROSH, there’s still time to grab one more of these submissions from the pile and treat you to one more of dose of awesome.
Because I’m a giver. And because I underpromise and overdeliver. And also because I’m still stuck on this damn boat heading down to Pandaria and if I don’t find something vaguely productive to do then it’s just a matter of time before SOMEONE on this boat starts to look irresistibly breakable.
So, speaking of people I would relish snapping into a couple hundred very tiny pieces (admittedly, this isn’t exactly an exclusive club), today’s reader poem comes from… <sigh>… spirits help us… Dontrag and Utvoch.
So… you know… not too much else for me to say about that. Let’s get this over with.
ONE MEAN, TOO MEAN.
We Mean Hellscream
By Sargeant Dontrag
And Grunt Utvoch
One mean, too mean
Garrosh Hellscream.
We mean you’re mean.
Too mean, we scream.
One mean, too mean.
Not share, no fair.
Don’t care anywhere.
Only care lemon square.
One mean, too mean
Slam door, stomp floor.
Settle score once more.
Nevermore Theramore.
One mean, too mean
One joke, two pokes.
Two blokes, slowpokes.
Two strokes, both croaks.
(Not yet, anyway)
One mean, too mean.
Not green, it seem.
You preen, ladies scream.
Umpteen, it’s obscene.
One mean, too mean.
Even seem little teen.
Figurine mean machine.
Femineene Hellscream.
Umm.
One mean, too mean.
Bell cursed, orcs worst.
Wrynn dispersed, left in hearse.
Got a nurse, death reversed.
Uh.
One mean, too mean.
Poor Steve, we grieve.
We leave before peeve.
Eve receive heave cleave.
Bye.
So… I suppose… I mean, I don’t even… Yeah. Fine. So there’s that.
It bears noting, by the way? That poem required two people to write.
Meanwhile, returning to the land of the not-stupid who can scrape together a few rhymes without needing to hold a conference, time for me to offer my… response. Which… yeah. I don’t really see this ending well, but here goes.
One herp, two derp.
Lunchtime, slurp burp.
No twirp usurp
Kings of herp-derp.
One herp, two derp.
Birdbrain, my bane.
Their brain: shit stain.
My pain? Explain:
One herp, two derp.
See me at sea.
Trainee runs free;
As for me? Can’t flee.
One herp, two derp.
Their insane word chain.
I complain; migrane;
Profane; bloodstain.
One herp, two derp.
Three smacks (four max).
Rage stacks, bone cracks,
My axe cleaves sacks.
One herp, two derp.
Each goon a buffoon.
Both hewn by noon.
Harpoon: death soon.
One herp, two derp.
Abhorred; need sword.
Kick toward Howling Fjord,
Thrown, soared, overboard.
One herp, two derp.
One blast from mast;
Ship fast; they’ve passed,
Distance vast; peace at last.
BYE MOTHERFUCKING BYE, MOTHERFUCKERS.
EPIC VERSE!
I mean, not that I should ever be surprised when Dumb and Dumber do something idiotic, but they REALLY didn’t think this one through, seeing as they sent me their… their… verbal equivalent of brain cancer, KNOWING full well they were going to be on a ship with me where there would be very few places to hide or run away.
Oh well. At least they get to practice their swimming now. For the entire rest of the trip. STOP YOUR BITCHING, JACKASSES, SWIMMING IS HEALTHY. Especially when the alternative to swimming is being on a boat with someone who’s liable to fucking MURDER you.
So. That wraps up this edition of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge for real. Thanks and congrats to everyone who contributed, all that stuff, whatever. I’m sure I’ll be throwing down some more EPIC VERSE soon enough just because. Or EPIC TALES of my EPIC LIFE. Or if you-know-who and you-know-who-else decide to try to crawl back on board, maybe EPIC RECAPS of me giving an EPIC BEATING to a couple EPIC PAINS in my EPIC ASS.
Okay, enough of that crap. Time to go up on deck and… I don’t know… be bored looking at the same view of the ocean I’ve been staring at this whole trip. Or listen to the Wonder Twins bickering about how to do a breaststroke. Or both. Ugh.
Water water everywhere, I think I need a drink.
Further tourist destinations
So while I’m making my way down to Pandaria again (I’M ON A BOAT, MOTHERFUCKERS), I went ahead and loaded up the blog with a couple goodies, not least of all being this, the final installment (OR IS IT?) (probably but you never know) of GARROSH’S POETRY CHALLENGE.
For those of you coming late to the party, or who’ve had maybe some sort of head trauma (for some reason, Dontrag and Utvoch come to mind, which is unfortunate, partly because it’s ALWAYS unfortunate when you think about Dontrag and Utvoch, but also because something seems inherently wrong about any sentence that includes “Dontrag and Utvoch” and “mind”) and so you’re severely prone to forgetting shit, I’ve been commemorating National Poetry Month by inviting all of you, MY LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS, to write your own original poems. You send in poems, I write my own in response, you get shown up by my brilliance, you cry, I win. In other words, Thursday.
So, on to today’s guest poet — namely, our old friend Sarlin. Let’s get right to it…
Rainforests sprinkled in glitter
Horde posts and dead Night Elf litter
Demons, ghosts and cans of fel
Old Gods and Ghamoo-ra’s shell
Twilight’s Hammer plus ten punts
Brainless orcs, one scout, ten grunts
Draka with an extra “a”
Warlocks with plots to betray
Throwing stars and soaring glaives
Slice wooden shields and silly staves
Demolishers spitting out their skill
And rare spawns that the Horde can’t kill
Spider rogues, like we don’t already flee them
But now they stealth, so you can’t SEE them
Wolves and foxes and walking pus
And giant trees that throw stuff at us
Sounds bearable, if you’re asking me.
We’ll be out of here at level thirty
Long enough to earn your wail and flail
Welcome, Horde, to Ashenvale
Well, I’ll give her this much — she managed not to blurt out one of those multi-volume saga poems. I was really bracing myself for something like 300 stanzas of fifteen lines each. But no, she managed to keep herself reined in, and not embarrass herself too severely in the process. Maybe I should make her communicate in rhyme more often — seems like it forces her to be a lot more concise.
She DID wind up leaving out a few things in her tour of Ashenvale, though. Here, I’ll fix that…
Listen now while I’m detailing
Ins and outs of Ashenvaling.
Come and batter; foes will scatter;
Plus you’ll escape Barrens chatter.
Sleepy words of night elf slumber;
Glitter coating Warsong lumber.
Magnataur fight for the Horde might —
Meh, back to the drawing board, right?
Wyverns soaring, bombs downpouring,
Battle lines are tug-of-warring;
Hopes are stark in battles sparkin’;
Morons think they’re still with Tarkan.
Furbolgs’ mischief that they wish up.
(These ones don’t call me Archbishop.)
Dragons guard a nightmare portal.
(Used to prove you weren’t immortal.)
But one site to be saluted,
Scene of triumph undisputed:
Dark-skied canyon we know well
Where Grommash stood and demons fell.
Next zone’s not for the fainthearted;
Stonetalon: don’t get me started.
Things are better there — don’t bristle —
Ever since Krom’gar’s dismissal.
EPIC VERSE!
There you go. That’s more like it. Everything you ever wanted to know about Ashenvale, and probably a few things you didn’t, with maybe two or three things you didn’t give a shit about thrown in as a chaser.
So, that does it for this year’s poetry challenge. Unless maybe I decide to toss some bonus goodies up here before the month completely runs out. Either way, congratulations to everyone who was HONORED BEYOND THEIR WILDEST DREAMS by being included, and thanks to everyone who submitted. And a big fat WHY THE FUCK NOT? to everyone who didn’t. Lazy fuckers.
Well, even though poetry month is winding down, you jokers still have a chance to show you’re not COMPLETELY lazy and useless. We’ve got a brand spanking new mailbag coming up in short order, so if you’re one of those clowns who couldn’t be bothered to participate in my GENEROUS ATTEMPT TO BRING SOME DAMN CULTURE TO YOU SLOBS, well, you better get off your ass and scrape together a letter. HEY, LOOK, SLACKERS — IT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE TO RHYME OR ANYTHING.
There you go. You know the drill — e-mail link up top on the right, form below. Get on it. More soon.
#500 GIANT-SIZED (not really) ANNIVERSARY (kind of) SPECIAL
Okay, people, I know we’ve got a hell of a lot going on these days on a whole bunch of fronts, but let’s get our damn priorities straight and take a moment to APPRECIATE THE GODDAMN AWESOMENESS OF ME.
Why, you ask? AS IF YOU NEED A REASON. But okay, fine, be that way. Even though you should already be in a constant state of awe over your Warchief, today marks an EXTRA SPECIAL awesome, awe-inspiring, awful… wait. I think I just took a wrong turn there.
…
IT’S A SPECIAL GODDAMN OCCASION IS WHAT I’M SAYING.
Reason being, the post you see before you marks the 500th BLOG POST here on the Warchief’s Command Board. That’s right, bitches, 500 posts — that’s FIVE ZERO ZERO. Go ahead and count ’em. I KNOW YOU WON’T.
But that’s where we are, people — 500 installments of EVERYBODY’S FAVORITE BLOG EVER. And riddle me this: have you read them all?
Yeah, me neither.
I mean, there were a bunch in there by guest posters like Spazzle and Mokvar, and I like those guys and everything, but not enough to actually give a shit about what they have to say about… like… anything. But whatever — like trees falling in the forest with no one there to hear them, those guests posts still… um… make a… sound when they…crash the server and… um… that is…
OKAY, THAT ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME A LITTLE, TOO. I MAY OR MAY NOT BE WORKING ON A COUPLE DRINKS, OKAY, SO STFU.
Anyhow. I’d like to thank all my loyal readers, and say that I couldn’t have done it without you. I’d LIKE to say that, but I can’t, because I totally could have. Let’s be real, scrubs, I’m the awesome one here, not you. THERE’S A REASON WHY YOU’RE READING MY BLOG AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, NOW ISN’T THERE?
But still, the occasion calls for something special, so in keeping with this month’s theme — I DO have a Poetry Challenge in progress, after all — I figured I’d take a look back at a 500-stack of EPIC the only proper way EPIC gets done:
That “LOK’TAR OGAR!” that I blogged for a starter;
I met D&U, but my wyvern’s way smarter;
Krom’gar dropped a bomb, but I dropped his ass harder;
EO gaming, “why fly” malaprop.
Twilights on a mission for that Cho’gall demon;
Ogres versus Grimtotem, and Magatha schemin’;
Johnny Awesome, beat it; Garona, keep dreamin’;
Saurfang took a turn watching the shop.
That time I went AWOL, then I was recovered;
Grabby Mylune hugged me till I damn near smothered;
Garadar reunion with my long-lost mother;
Year one challenge, rhymes of locks in socks.
Mom was just a cruel trick Magatha unraveled;
Trouble for Forsaken; Tirion’s endless babble;
Head to old Southshore thanks to FUCKING TIME TRAVEL;
Human Faranell’s a paradox.
Psycho!Mylune rampaged, eyes more wild than dewy;
Edwin fucked the past up; all the timelines went screwy;
We straightened them out; Theramore went kablooey;
Went to Karazhan to spin some tunes.
Pandas showed up teaching how anger is managed;
Got myself some trainees: DPS advantage;
Someone ganked Mokvar; he ankhed and wound up bandaged;
Rolled up on Pandaria with my goons.
Gurtash started drawing; Vol’jin stopped his breathing;
Cloudfall spoke of destiny and got me near believing;
Mokvar met Magatha, that one had me seething;
He went off the grid — he’d best run far.
Lor’the’whatsit’s bitching still; I got pounced by Tak;
Snagged the Divine Bell; that’s when Jaina blew her stack;
DPS got lost, but I (mostly) got them back;
Meet my daughter, Shay. (Have a cigar.)
Shay’s mage class was hard, her sucker punch was hardest;
Mokvar reappeared with green fire from the Black Harvest;
Gurtash got blindsided, we were down an artist;
Made an offer Blackfuse can’t refuse.
Green-eyed wolf named Golmash acting pretty fishy;
Gurtash still needs training not to be so squishy;
Utvoch got promoted, but I kinda wish he
And Dontrag weren’t always so confused.
EPIC VERSE and lemon squares, endless reader mail;
Ruekie getting ruekied; eternal minion fail;
Mortimer’s a badass; Shayari’s hunting sales;
Earth Online guild chat is always strange.
FYV; #LadiesLoveMe, ’cause they’re not slumming;
Trolls are always trolling, dumbasses are dumbing;
500 down so far, a thousand more coming!
Okay, maybe. Times could always change.
EPIC VERSE!
Keep checking in, people. The EPIC DROPS are only just warming up.
LOK’TAR!
Further poetic meditations on SUPREME IDIOCY
Okay, people, as promised, it’s time for our first installment of GARROSH’S POETRY CHALLENGE: The Make You Lazy Fuckers Do Some of the Work For a Change Edition. Although we’re probably going to just go with “Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge” for short, because the full title is probably a little cumbersome to try to cram onto the cover when the paperback comes out. ANYWAY. Luckily, not ALL of you lazy fuckers in question were COMPLETELY lazy this time around (but let’s make no mistake, some of you were, and I HAVE MY EYE ON YOU NOW, YES I SURE DO, SPARKY), so we’ve got candidates for this first edition.
So today’s proud contributor, whole WHOLE LIFE WILL NO DOUBT BE GRANTED NEW MEANING by her recognition here, is @LibFeathers, a regular Twitter contributor… um… participant… follow… erm… I KNOW HER MOSTLY FROM TWITTER, OKAY? Go follow her and get the fuck off my back.
Anyhow, here’s Libby’s contribution:
When Garrosh took over the Horde
two orcs caused some major discord.
A sergeant and scout –
such nonsense they’d spout.
Their behavior he truly deplored.
Sergeant Dontrag was never without
his old buddy Utvoch, the scout.
They joked, goofed, and roared.
They could not be ignored.
So Garrosh whacked them both right on the snout.
Not fucking bad, if I do say so myself. Of course, if I DID say so myself, as in said the actual POEM myself, it would be at least 280% more EPIC, but that’s no criticism of her because let’s be real, you people aren’t expected to perform at my level.
So, speaking of performing at my level and saying so myself, hold on to your asses, bitches, because it’s my turn, PICKING RIGHT UP WHERE LIBBY LEFT OFF:
So Dontrag and Utvoch blabbed on,
Till Garrosh just wished they were gone.
He chugged down a gallon,
Sent them to Stonetalon;
They came back; the whacks were back on.
Alas, the whacking did no good!
(It’s amazing how much they withstood.)
Despite all the pain,
D&U grew no brains;
Possibly due to heads made of wood.
When Gurtash rode off on wolfback,
Garrosh gathered up D, U, & Tak,
Decreed that this group’ll
Keep tabs on his pupil,
Just in case he came under attack.
That plan proved clairvoyant because
Gurtash doesn’t fight well; Utvoch does.
As reward for that stunt
He made Utvoch a Grunt,
Despite not knowing which one he was.
Garrosh tried to fix that with a spell,
But it didn’t work out very well;
Full of fail so contagious,
So disadvantageous,
Even arcane enchants go to fel.
Garrosh can’t make them shut up or shoo,
So for now some good earplugs will do.
I’ll repeat this forever:
You know you can’t ever
Spell dumbass without D and U.
EPIC VERSE!
THERE YOU GO, motherfuckers. DEAL WITH IT.
So, as I said the other day, this is going to be a weekly feature for National Poetry Month, so get your own poetic compositions in and see if I decide to grace them with the Garrosh treatment. SAME EPIC TIME, SAME EPIC WEBSITE.
[Keep those lyrical masterpieces coming! All submissions received by next Monday (April 11) will be eligible for next Thursday’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Feel free to use the email link in the upper right sidebar, or, contact form incoming…]
Identity crisis
So, I got a comment from Khizzara on that last mailbag that kind of got me thinking. See, she looked at the picture Sarlin sent with her letter about running into Dontrag and Utvoch in Ashenvale, and how it looks like they have their names floating over their heads, which they actually DON’T and it just looked that way because Sarlin did some kind of thingy-whatsy with the picture after the fact. Which is kind of a dumb thing not to recognize right off, especially from someone like Khizzara who’s supposed to be a mage and smart and stuff, but maybe her int buff isn’t working or some shit. Or maybe Spazzle just got the brains in the family. Whatever.
Anyhow, though, that comment got me thinking about how handy it would be if those two DID have their names hovering over their heads, because let’s face it, Khizzara DOES have a point about how nobody can tell the Wonder Twins apart. And granted, in my case, that’s at least partly due to me not really giving a shit, but still. It’ll save at least a couple headaches.
I figured I’d see about getting some actual return on my investment in all these mage lessons Shayari’s been getting from Faranell over in the Undercity, so I gave her a new project to work on: casting a glamor spell (she liked the sound of that a lot more before I spelled out what I meant) on Dontrag and Utvoch that actually WOULD make their names float over their heads. Turns out, that kind of a spell wasn’t even all that complicated to put together.
Hold your horses. You know what usually happens around here when something looks like smooth sailing.
So Shay tried her spell out yesterday, and at first everything seemed to be going fine. “Dontrag” hovering over Dontrag (I think), “Utvoch” hovering over Utvoch (I believe), and, so far as the spell was to be believed, 70% less confusion about which of those idiots was which, and a residual 30% reduction in how much I needed to smack them around. Which I know is a lot less than the 70%, but come on, they’re still dumb and annoying, right? NO JURY WOULD CONVICT ME.
So that seemed to be going fine. But then, after a little while, the spell started going haywire. As in, it kept putting the names over Dumb and Dumber’s heads, but it started switching them around — putting “Dontrag” over Utvoch and “Utvoch” over Dontrag. Now, mind you, I didn’t really notice this myself right away, largely because recognizing the problem would require me to care enough about which of them is which, and I mean, if I could just LOOK at those two and know who was D and who was U, I wouldn’t NEED the damn glamor in the first place, right? But at one point while Shay was tinkering with the spell, Taktani bounced by, and don’t ask me how but she always seems to be able to keep those two idiots straight. I don’t know, she’s a cat most of the time, so maybe her kitty-sense tingles or something. Point is, the names started switching around. Why, I don’t know. Maybe Shay forgot to cross some T’s and dot some I’s setting up the spell. Maybe the sheer AURA OF FAILURE that surrounds those two is so potent that it even makes magic break down after a while. Maybe they’re just so damn indistinguishable that even the UNIVERSE ITSELF gets confused eventually, magic or no. Don’t ask me, I just work here.
Thing is, that wasn’t even the worst of it. Because, see, obviously the glamor was visible to EVERYONE, right? So the Wonder Twins themselves could read each other’s arcane name tags, but then, when the spell started going wonky and mixing them up, THE IDIOTS THEMSELVES started getting all distressed and confused and thinking THEY had it wrong, and maybe they weren’t really who they thought they were. And this led to like an hour and a half of Dontrag worrying that he might actually be Utvoch, and Utvoch getting an ulcer thinking he’s been living a lie when he should have been Dontrag, until finally I had to bonk their damn heads together to shut them up because who needs to to listen to that shit.
So while they were out cold, I had Shay lift the damn spell. It’s just not fucking worth it if it’s not even going to work half the time, and just gives those two one more thing to yammer about. Hell, who the fuck would have guessed that one little would-be hocus-pocus convenience would result in a pair of blithering mental defectives having a full-on existential crisis?
So yeah. Back to the drawing board. Moving on.
More soon.
Monday mailbag
Another Monday, another batch of letters. Let’s see what my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS have to say to their favorite Warchief…
I feel like it’s been quite some time since last we corresponded. As it happens, I have been travelling, and taking a quill to parchment didn’t really make the cut of amazing new things to do. Which I happen to have recorded on a piece of parchment that I believe I wrote up two weeks ago. Anywho. By the way, did Rue’kara get her writing supplies back?
Anyway, my travels took me and Anaria to Ashenvale, where I made a very brief stop at the Silverwind Outpost to gather some rations and fresh arrows. Don’t worry, Ana stayed outside. I think she was freaked out by all the Night Elf corpses. Which, by the way, I totally respect you fighting a war and all, but couldn’t you at least clean them up?
Anyway…what I really wanted to bring up with you was the fact that I may or may not have bumped into your orcish associates, Seargent Dontrag and Scout Utvoch. Photographic evidence below;
My question may be perceived as rhetorical, but I am genuinely intrigued; where did they learn math? And also, when did math start becoming relevant in the days of the week? I think there was something about Brewfest math too but I’d zoned out at that point.
I really am sorry.
I hope your luck is treating you well.
–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade
Well I’ll be damned, Sarlin, you were able to get in under the 250-word limit without even breaking a sweat. Will wonders ever cease.
So… yeah. You met those two. And… just to recap, for anyone who wasn’t paying attention, let me direct your attention to Sarlin in this picture…
…and yeah, that’s pretty much the look I have on MY face when the Wonder Twins turn up, too.
By the way, it’s not Scout Utvoch anymore, just FYI. He’s Grunt Utvoch now, as of a couple days ago when he got a promotion. Was he still wearing his Scout insignia? Minor point, I know, but stay tuned, we’ll come back to it.
Good news is, Sarlin, I’ve got an easy answer for your question. Where did D&U learn math? They didn’t. Pro tip: any time a question begins “Where did D&U learn,” the answer is they didn’t. Every single time.
To be honest with you, though, I’m less concerned about D&U’s grasp of math (hang on — I think reality just shuddered a little at me stringing THOSE words together consecutively) than I am about their grasp of GEOGRAPHY. You say you ran into them at SILVERWIND REFUGE? Just… hanging out like they were ON DUTY or something?
Dude… they USED to be stationed out there, then I fucking reassigned them to Stonetalon… like TWO YEARS AGO. They served there under Krom’gar (and the less said about THAT motherfucker the better), then STAYED up that way when I put the region under Overlord Cliffwalker’s jurisdiction. And okay, then Cliffwalker pulled a fast one on me and shipped their asses down to Pandaria to get them out of his hair and back into mine. And for this past little while now, while I’ve been back in Orgrimmar, they’ve been in town here too, temporarily, pending the return trip south.
And the reason I’m even going into this much detail about it is so you can really appreciate the chain of travels, relocations, and reassignments that D&U have had SINCE the last time they were supposed to be in Silverwind Refuge.
And yet, there they were.
You know what? Fuck it. Good place for ’em. Let Captain Tarkan worry about what to do with ’em. Maybe they can go farm some Molten Front dailies, too, while they’re keeping busy in Three-Major-Villains-Ago Land. Maybe that’s just how slow their brains are, that they’re still getting caught up from like two years ago, and so every so often they have a collective brain fart and think they’re still supposed to be at the base where they USED to be stationed and HEY EUREKA maybe THAT’S why Utvoch was still going by “Scout,” because the goddamn hamster wheel in his brain is still spin spin spinning around trying to get caught up to TODAY, and sometimes the hamster falls over in the wheel and gets whipped around a few hundred times and in its dizzy confusion it has to take a wild guess at what year it is and sometimes it guesses wrong. So HEY, UTVOCH, in case you’re reading this, check it out, THE LICH KING IS DEAD NOW, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT?
Isn’t Rhonin dead? I live in Dalaran and I hear him say something, like, every five minutes or something? Something about raising our eyes to the skies and observing? Why am I still hearing this? Is Rhonin’s ghost haunting us forever with his endless speech?
–Clarise Sunbow
Okay, so, I think I’m kind of in a unique position to say, definitely, that yes, Rhonin is dead. No two ways about it, dude got himself deaded up right good. Still, Clarise, that IS one hell of a weird thing to be stuck listening to over and over all day (not to mention annoying as fuck), so I went ahead and did a little research for you. NO NEED TO THANK ME. Seeing as you’ve apparently got a dead guy turning up and doing the same shit over and over, I went ahead and consulted with my own resident dead guy with a history of doing the same shit over and over, Doc Faranell over in the Undercity. Well, that is, I TRIED consulting with him on this. He mostly just kind of stared at me forlornly. Not especially helpful, really. Come to think of it, maybe Faranell wouldn’t know as much about this as I was thinking. I mean, yeah, two dead guys, but “walking around playing poker on Fridays”-dead is a lot different from “blown up by a mana bomb”-dead.
Luckily, though, I WAS eventually able to drag a possible answer out of Faranell, but he did it drawing more from the part where he’s a mage than from the part where he’s a reanimated dead guy with a history of being trapped in infinitely repeating time loops. Which, of the two, is really kind of the more mundane part of Faranell’s deal, and come to think of it, what kind of crazy bizarro world are we stuck in where being a fucking WIZARD is the BORING thing about someone? But anyhow, Faranell blathered some stuff about what’s probably going on, a lot of which I don’t really remember too well because it involved a load of technical magic talk and also because I wasn’t paying attention too closely because, let’s be honest, I don’t really care that much. BUT I SAID I WAS GOING TO GET YOU AN ANSWER, DAMMIT.
We soldier on.
So the gist of it is that after Rhonin got his ass arcane-kablooeyed all across the swamp, something about his personal magic power got amped up by the mana bomb magic power and the Focusing Iris magic power and did a thing with the whole Dalaran magic-ground-zero power, and something about a place that was personally important to him, and some other shit Faranell said that who the fuck can follow and who even cares really, and the end result is there’s some kind of arcane echo of Rhonin that’s been projected into Dalaran that keeps replaying a moment of his life over and over again. Which kind of makes me glad the dude never swung by this neck of the woods for a visit, because I’ve got enough pains in the ass to deal with without having to listen to “CITIZENS OF ORGRIMMAR! LOOK TO THE SKY!” every five minutes.
Tomorrow I am going to the Valley of Trials to face my om’riggor. At my father’s insistence, I write to you to confirm I will be joining that trainee program of yours, though I fail to see what I’ll get out of it. For the record, my father told me I should become a hunter, but I am no hunter’s son. Perhaps the Thunderlord of old thought that was good enough for them, but my father keeps wolves and my mother was a warrior, so I will keep wolves and fight for Orgrimmar. I was surprised when he told me, though; all I was ever told about my ancestral clan was that they kept the last wolf pen on Draenor around the time of the reign of Ner’zhul.
If you and my father are truly so frightened I will get myself killed, let me make this vow: when I am seasoned enough to command my own warriors, I will find my mothers killers and make them pay. Until then, I will bide my time, study the Alliance’s tactics and strike when they least expect it. I would kill those beasts now if I could, but they will only grow older and grayer, while I will grow stronger and tougher, as the years pass, after all. It will make my task easier, I’m sure.
–Corkrok Wolfrunner
P.S. By the way, your shaman friend hasn’t helped matters any – that wretched green-eyed wolf is still at it, and my father still doesn’t know what’s causing his condition.
Oh Corkrok…
…all these flavors, and you just had to choose to be salty, didn’t you?
You know, I get the sense that you’ve got some weird read on me that’s making you think I’m AGAINST you going after the humans who killed your mother. Let’s clear this up — I get it, okay? The Alliance killed your mother — reason #87,403 to rid the world of them –and you want them dead. GOOD. Awesome. I’m all for it. I am 100% UTTERLY PRO DEAD HUMANS. Are we clear on this?
The only thing your father and I want to make sure of is that you’re fully prepared when the time comes for you to square off against them in battle. So guess what — that means WE ALL WANT THE SAME DAMN THING. So, to that end, I’m assigning you to Overlord Runthak’s trainee group. He’s one of our best warriors and no stranger to the Alliance tactics (pfft) that you seem so keen to study up on. You stick with him, and soon enough you’ll get your chance to have at the humans.
As for the “green-eyed wolf” — Golmash, if I remember right — I know it’s still a work in progress. I’ve been getting reports from Mokvar, who’s the “shaman friend” you mentioned… well, other than the fact that he’s really NOT a shaman, he just used to be, but then I guess I can’t really blame you for getting that mixed up because honestly, dude changes classes more often than ogres change underwear (i.e., more than once per lifetime). And, well, if we’re being totally real here, even the “friend” part is at least debatable. But still. Yeah. He’s been keeping me up to date on his research. We’ve got a couple possible leads, but it might not be a situation with a quick fix. More updates to follow on that one. Probably best to let your father and me and my, um, shaman warlock friend friend (?) oh fuck it whatever friend worry about this one for the time being. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, good luck with the om’riggor, and glad to see you finally coming to your senses about training. Well, sort of, at least. See above re: salty. But, you know, whatever gets the job done, right?
What strength or other quality do you wish you/the Horde could assimilate or appropriate from the Alliance or other factions/enemies.
Undying loyalty,
–Sintra E’Drien
I mean, if we’re talking about one side APPROPRIATING things from the other, you maybe want to go talk to the ALLIANCE about where they got that awesome idea to set up a Brawler’s Guild. Just sayin’. I mean, not for nothing, but nothing pisses me off more than people ripping off my ideas (with the possible exceptions of Magatha and Johnny Awesome and gnomes and humans and murlocs and people who sit there on their big-ass mounts blocking the mailbox because FUCK those people). Seriously, what’s next? How many more of my ideas are going to get ripped off by assholes? Is somebody going to steal the genius idea to travel back to the past that I had forever ago? Or WAS it forever ago? WHO’S TO SAY, because FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.
As for qualities I’D like to copy from the Alliance… um… hmm. Kind of drawing a blank here, to tell you the truth. The night elves and draenei both have massive lifespans, so I guess that would be pretty cool. Although the blood elves live a damned long time, too, because elves, and I suppose the Forsaken are pretty much immortal as long as nobody KILLS them kills them, because, you know, they already died once and who wants to do that shit again? But that means we’ve already got the super-duper lifespans covered in-house… So… nope. I got nothin’.
So… hmm… maybe I can take a look at some of the other factions out there and see if they have anything going for them…
Timbermaw Hold — I don’t have some quality that I’d want to gain from them, exactly, but I DO find it kinda cool how, due to some tribal technicality, they recognize the Warchief of the Horde — whoever that happens to be — as an Archbishop. True story. I have the funny hat to prove it.
The Keepers of Time — Don’t even get me started. Also, not for nothing, but why do we actually have the Keepers of Time, AND the Scale of the Sands, AND the Brood of Nozdormu? Aren’t they all pretty much the same thing? Or is this some kind of freaky time travel thing where they literally ARE the same thing but from overlapping timelines and they need to use different names to make sure they don’t cross the streams because timey whimey and OMG FUCKING TIME TRAVEL. HEAD HURTS.
The Argent Crusade — I would love to have their apparent ability to be around Tirion all day and somehow not feel an overpowering urge to KILL EVERYTHING EVER.
The Sons of Hodir — Okay, you know what? This isn’t a trait that the whole faction has, and for that matter, it’s not even something I would want to pass on to the entire Horde. It’s purely something about that Thorim dude that I’d like to grab up for myself. The guy does an absolutely KILLER Baine Bloodhoof voice. Annoys the living FUCK out of Baine. Always has. Just being REMINDED of Thorim gets Baine all grumbly. Next time you’re in Thunder Bluff, in fact, roll up on Baine and just go “IN THE MOUNTAINS!” in the best Thorim voice you can manage. Even if it’s not that good. Maybe even ESPECIALLY if it’s not that good. Just try it. Anyway, I bet it would be a fucking BLAST if I could do the voice like ol’ MC Hammer does.
Tushui Pandaren — Okay, so here we go. I knew if I mulled it over for long enough, I’d be able to come up with SOMEBODY from within the Alliance that had something going for them. So, here you go, Sintra, here’s something from an Alliance sub-faction that I’d like to emulate myself — a picture’s worth a thousand words:
Nuff said, motherfucker. Nuff said.
I understand that some of my past conduct may have accidentally agitated you, but I am writing to assure you of my resolve to make amends and offer my ongoing service!
As one of your followers informed you in your last mailbag (See? I am even a regular blog reader and fan. Not disuaded by all the bounty hunters you have sent after me!), I recently risked great bodily harm to make up for past mistakes and eliminate Magatha Grimtotem on your behalf!
Unfortunately she managed to get away. I know I must have hurt her a lot though! Those Face Melters pack a wallop, and I can only imagine they must do even more damage to the target than the user. Otherwise I may have made a very poor investment.
But as you can see, my loyalty has not wavered! Even after all the time I have needed to spend in hiding. And so I write to you now in hopes that my efforts with the Grimtotem crone will return me to your good graces.
The blade of Johnny Awesome awaits your bidding warchief!
Lock-tar ogre,
–Johnny Awesome, Felwood
So, a few points here.
First, for anyone who doesn’t remember… ugh, now I actually have to relive this shit again… I ran into this Johnny Awesome guy a couple years ago while Garona and I were working a case, and he was all looking for missions to make himself useful, and so, you know, I went into questgiver mode and sent him off to Thousand Needles to find some busywork for himself or maybe hopefully get himself killed. IF ONLY. And so OF COURSE it would JUST SO HAPPEN that the Twilight nutjob cult was holding Magatha PRISONER in Thousand Needles, and she duped ol’ Johnny Asshole into HELPING her, and then she went prancing off on her merry way and don’t even get me STARTED on the whole shitstorm she stirred up from THERE.
So, second, yeah, this is THAT Johnny Awesome.
Which leads us to THIRD AND FOURTH, holy fucking shit do I fucking HATE that guy, YES I DO.
Oh, and, FIFTH, he didn’t exactly help his cause by somehow managing to fuck up “Lok’tar ogar” while writing to THE GODDAMN WARCHIEF looking for forgiveness.
But, on the topic of your request there, Johnny, let me put it this way:
SIXTH — Look at that, people, HE JUST TOLD YOU HE’S IN FELWOOD. THE BOUNTY’S NOW UP TO TWO MILLION GOLD — GET OUT THERE, GET HUNTING, AND BRING ME THE HEAD OF JOHNNY MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME!
That’s all for this time. Keep sending those letters. But not before you head up to Felwood and lay some decapitating on ol’ Sparkle-Pony-Boy.
More soon.
[The Warchief’s next mailbag will be Monday, May 2. Send your questions, comments, or other missives to Garrosh via or email through the link in the upper right sidebar, or, as always, using the handy-dandy form below:]
This is gonna hurt…
…but I guess I might as well just pull the bandage off instead of picking at it.
Maybe. Ugh.
So, okay. After the way things went down with Gurtash, and the braintrust tailing him, Eitrigg had one of those rare moments when he had an idea I actually agreed with. Eventually. Begrudgingly.
So, yeah, let’s get this over with.
In light of his — hold the presses — good work the other day, and stepping up to make the save with Gurtash… I’ve decided… been persuaded… to give Scout Utvoch… a promotion.
To Grunt.
Which probably isn’t even as big a deal as it might sound, seeing as Scout is the entry-level Horde military rank, and Utvoch’s been a scout for like eleven years. Which is sort of the military equivalent of repeating your freshman in high school until you’re 27. Although if you happen to be THIS hypothetical freshman, it… never mind. TRYING TO STAY POSITIVE.
ANYWAY, point is, I guess this is maybe overdue anyway.
Maybe.
You know, if you overlook the crashing incompetence.
BUT I GUESS TODAY ISN’T THE DAY TO GET INTO THAT.
So, yeah, grats, Utvoch.
Fuck. Now I have to figure out which one of the Wonder Twins he is.
Adult supervision recommended
I mentioned last time about how I had an idea about Gurtash and his… well, let’s be generous and call it “shaky” progress with his warrioring, and how he seemed like he was tensing up under the pressure he was putting on himself. Granted, the pressure he’ll wind up being under in actual combat situation — you know, “fuck up and die” type pressure — is probably going to be a whole lot more than whatever he’s got going on upstairs, but still. One step at a time. There’s only so much I can help him until I get him out of his own head.
So anyhow, I got the idea that what Gurtash really needed was to put up a win for himself without me or Lantresor hovering over him. Something simple where he gets a nice, easy fight with nothing to worry about OTHER than the fight, then come out on top, boost his confidence, and maybe get the damn monkey off his back.
I mean, figuratively speaking. I’m pretty sure we didn’t have any hozen stowing away with us on the trip back from Pandaria.
So, earlier today, when he was taking Grimjaw out for another spin to practice his riding, I gave Gurtash an extra little errand to tend to. While he was making the rounds in Durotar, I told him to keep an eye out for a good-sized boar, then kill it and bring it home. There’s no shortage of wild boars a ways south of Orgrimmar, but none of them are especially big or dangerous. So, we’re looking at a real fish-in-barrel situation. Easy kill, nobody peeking over his shoulder that he needs to concern himself with, then, as an added perk, he gets to head home to Orgrimmar and have a dinner made from his own kill. Nothing tastes better.
Well, some things do. But not when your own kill just so happens to be made of pork chops and bacon. See how I stack the deck?
Still, I did want to get an idea of how the kid managed, even if the win was a foregone conclusion. So I arranged to have a scout and a notetaker follow at a distance to keep an eye on how the kid was doing, then report to me.
And, okay, you got me. When I say “a scout” and “a notetaker,” I’m also using this as an excuse to… you know… give Taktani and Utvoch something to do that doesn’t involve them being in my hair all afternoon. Metaphorically. I figured Tak would be only too happy (“too happy” is sort of her default setting, isn’t it?) to jump at a new scribing assignment, and seeing as Utvoch’s actual RANK is “Scout,” a literal scouting job might actually be something he can handle. Then again, that’s what I thought about him and Dontrag using their cashier characters for actual cashier duty on Earth Online that time, and we all know how that worked out. But I’m trying not to think about that. It’s not good for my blood pressure.
Anyway, though, speaking of Utvoch’s other half, I also let Dontrag tag along on this assignment. Mostly because sending just ONE of them would require me to remember which one of them is which, and fuck if I know. So… Dontrag, Utvoch, and Tak. A real braintrust going on this job. Thank goodness it’s an easy babysitting assignment.
Tak notes incoming. (Spirits help us all.)
(YAY! Mr. Warchief gave me a MISSION! It sounds super important, too! I’m supposed to watch Mr. Gurtash while he goes on HIS mission, only I’m not supposed to let him see me! So I have to be super sneaky! SSSSHHHHH! It’s like I’m a SPY! Maybe I should try to stealth so I can sneak around in the shadows! I AM SHADOW CAT! Hee hee! Only I guess I really shouldn’t stealth, since Mr. D and Mr. U are supposed to come with me — Yay! — and then I might sneak along to watch Mr. Gurtash and then I’ll try to talk to Mr. D and Mr. U, but they won’t be there because they didn’t see me move, and then everyone would be confused and sad. So I guess maybe I shouldn’t do that. Again.
(Mr. Gurtash rode around for a while on his wolfie. His wolfie looks nice, all cute and furry. Mr. D and Mr. U have wolfies, too. I wonder what their names are! I should ask them! I mean ask Mr. D and Mr. U, not ask the wolfies. They probably don’t speak Common or Taur-ahe. Maybe they speak Orcish? They probably only speak wolfie. I bet that would be a fun language to learn! AWOOO!
(I like Mr. D and Mr. U’s wolfies, but they’re not as cute as Mr. Gurtash’s — don’t tell them I said that, though! If you know how to speak wolfie, I mean. I don’t want them to be sad! — but then I guess Mr. Gurtash’s wolfie is still kind of a wolf puppy, and Mr. D and Mr. U’s wolves are all grown up and not as fuzzy.
(Maybe I can get a wolfie friend, too! I guess it would have to be a big wolfie to carry me if I’m in tauren form? We usually ride kodos, and kodos are super nice too but they’re not furry like wolves. Maybe I could just have a wolfie friend who’ll let me ride on his back as a cat? I’m a little smaller that way so maybe that would be lighter for the wolfie. Ooh and since wolfies are kind of like puppies, it would be like a kitty riding a doggy! Dogs and cats living together! Crazy! Hee hee!
(I flew around as a bird most of the time we were following Mr. Gurtash. Mr. D and Mr. U followed on their wolfies from farther away. So I watched Mr. Gurtash from way up high — WHOOSH! hee hee! — and Mr. D and Mr. U watched me. Then Mr. Gurtash rode his wolfie around the rocky place near Razor Hill. Mr. D and Mr. U rode through the town. I circled past it. It looked like there were lots of guards there. It must be very safe! That must be why Mr. Warchief wanted Mr. Gurtash to go on his mission near here.
(After Mr. Gurtash got off his wolfie, I landed near some rocks on the cliffs above him. I could look down at Mr. Gurtash and even hide behind the rocks if he looked this way! Hee hee — being sneaky is fun!
(Mr. D and Mr. U caught up so they could watch Mr. Gurtash too. It took them a little while to climb up to where I was. I forget sometimes that they can’t fly too! It’s a good thing I picked a perch with big rocks — Mr. D and Mr. U need bigger rocks to hide behind than I do! So we stayed there and watched Mr. Gurtash for a little while.)
UTVOCH – Is it clear to look again?
DONTRAG – I think so. He’s got his back to us.
(Mr. U came out from behind the rocks and watched Mr. Gurtash with me and Mr. D again. Mr. Gurtash was fighting a big piggy.)
TAKTANI – Is he doing good?
UTVOCH – He seems okay.
DONTRAG – He’s not going to lose or anything, but he’s handling his axe kind of awkward.
UTVOCH – Was he going for a rend there?
DONTRAG – I’m not sure.
TAKTANI – What’s that?
DONTRAG – Rend? A warrior ability.
UTVOCH – Or a warrior.
DONTRAG – Well, yeah, him too.
TAKTANI – Is he a friend of yours? Maybe I can meet him!
UTVOCH – No, he’s dead now.
TAKTANI – Oh. I’m sorry! =(
UTVOCH – Don’t be. He was kind of a jerk.
DONTRAG – Yeah, really.
UTVOCH – But rend is kind of like rake for you, Tak.
TAKTANI – Ohh!
DONTRAG – Since when do you know druid abilities?
UTVOCH – Donty, I know lots of stuff you don’t know about.
DONTRAG – Whatever you need to tell yourself, Ut.
TAKTANI – The piggy must be really strong. He’s been fighting Mr. Gurtash for a long time!
UTVOCH – That’s mostly because the trainee’s taking a while to wear it down.
DONTRAG – Yeah.
UTVOCH – He looks like he’s a little steadier now than he was.
DONTRAG – Yeah. He’ll kill it, but it’s just taking him a while.
TAKTANI – So he’s winning?
UTVOCH – I guess you could say that.
TAKTANI – Yay! I get to give Mr. Warchief a good report!
DONTRAG – Well, maybe not that good.
UTVOCH – Okay at least.
TAKTANI – This is fun! We should be spies together more!
DONTRAG – Maybe the Warchief will want to send us on more jobs like this if we do a good job?
UTVOCH – Maybe for his other trainees?
DONTRAG – I guess. Wouldn’t it make more sense to spy on the Alliance, though?
TAKTANI – Why?
DONTRAG – Well, because Gurt… Gurtak?
TAKTANI – Mr. Gurtash! I think. (checking my notes) Yes! Mr. Gurtash!
DONTRAG – Okay, so, Gurtash is one of us.
TAKTANI – Yay!
DONTRAG – And the Alliance is the enemy.
TAKTANI – Oh… Why?
DONTRAG – Well, uh, we’re kind of at war with them.
TAKTANI – (blinking) We are?
DONTRAG – Uh, yeah… you didn’t… I mean, nobody told you?
TAKTANI – (shaking head) Nuh uh!
DONTRAG – Oh. Well, um, yeah, we’re at war with the Alliance.
TAKTANI – That doesn’t sound very nice.
DONTRAG – Well, uh… I guess it’s not. But… but there’s honor and glory!
TAKTANI – Ooh that sounds fun! How?!
DONTRAG – From killing enemies of the Horde!
TAKTANI – Killing— that doesn’t sound nice either!
DONTRAG – Well… I guess if… It’s what you do in a war, though! You kill your enemies. And we’re at war with the Alliance.
TAKTANI – Oh. (thinking) Why?
DONTRAG – Because… um… well I guess we just kind of are?
TAKTANI – But that doesn’t sound very nice!
DONTRAG – Well, uh… yeah, I guess. But we’ve kind of always been at war with them.
TAKTANI – (blinking) Like for always always?
DONTRAG – Uh. Well, as far back as I can remember, anyway. Like since before I was born.
TAKTANI – But… but why does everyone want to be fighting? Isn’t it better to be friends?
DONTRAG – Well I guess so, but they don’t like us… you know, the humans and the dwarves and the night elves–
TAKTANI – I thought the elfies were our friends!
DONTRAG – No, those are the blood elves. I think.
TAKTANI – There are different elfies?
DONTRAG – I’m pretty sure, yeah.
TAKTANI – But why?
DONTRAG – I don’t know, I think some of them left because magic or something, and then those elves became the blood elves, like after the undead killed most of them–
TAKTANI – Like Dr. Zombie?!
DONTRAG – No, uh, those were different undead. Sort of. Like I think they all started out as the same undead, and then some of them broke away, and those ones are our undead.
TAKTANI – So there are different zombies too?!
DONTRAG – Yeah, right, so… so there’s our undead, and then there’s the bad undead. Well, um, more bad.
TAKTANI – This is so confusing!
DONTRAG – Yeah, I know. I’m kind of losing track of it a little myself.
TAKTANI – So are the bad zombies with the Alliance?
DONTRAG – No, they’re… they’re off doing their own stuff. Eating brains or whatever.
TAKTANI – Oh.
DONTRAG – But the night elves are.
TAKTANI – They are?
DONTRAG – Yeah.
TAKTANI – But you said the Alliance want to hurt us!
DONTRAG – Well, yeah, they do.
TAKTANI – But I see night elves all the time in Moonglade and they don’t try to hurt me!
DONTRAG – Well… but those are druids, right?
TAKTANI – I think?
DONTRAG – Yeah, I think that’s different.
TAKTANI – (blinks) I don’t understand.
DONTRAG – I mean, I guess druids kind of have their own thing. I think. But mostly the elves don’t like us.
TAKTANI – I don’t understand why we all can’t just be friends!
DONTRAG – I guess. I mean, the humans did kind of put us all in prison camps.
TAKTANI – What?! Who?
DONTRAG – All the orcs, pretty much.
TAKTANI – That’s so mean! Why would they do that to the orcies?
DONTRAG – I guess they were kind of mad about how we invaded from another world and… like… destroyed Stormwind and stuff.
TAKTANI – What?! Why would you do that?!
DONTRAG – Uh, dunno.
UTVOCH – Uh, guys?
DONTRAG – I think it was Garrosh’s dad’s idea or something.
TAKTANI – I don’t think I like these stories.
UTVOCH – Guys? Down here…
(Oops! I guess I got kind of distracted talking to Mr. D! It’s a good thing Mr. U was smart and kept watching Mr. Gurtash while we were talking! I guess Mr. Gurtash did okay with the big piggy he was fighting, but while he was doing that, some mean piggy men saw him and came over to try to hurt him! I remember there were piggy quillboar people like them in Mulgore, too, and they always used to cause trouble for everybody. I didn’t know they come here and try to hurt the orcies, too! OMG are they part of the Alliance too?!
(Oops I got distracted again! Mean silly quillies! But the mean quilly men were trying to hurt Mr. Gurtash — Boo! — and he tried to protect himself but there were three of them and only one of him. And Mr. D and I were busy talking about the war that I still don’t like and it seems really bad and not fun. But Mr. U was still watching and saw what was happening so he ran down to help Mr. Gurtash fight them. Once he was there helping, it didn’t take very long for them to win. At least, I think. Did I mention Mr. D and I weren’t really watching? Oops! But Mr. U won! Yay! He must be very strong to beat all the mean quillies all quick. I’m glad he’s on our side.
(I still don’t like how we have a war, though. It makes me sad. But Mr. Warchief is smart and I bet he’ll think of a way to make it stop!)
So, that’s it for Tak’s report. Actually, strictly speaking, there was three or four more pages of it, but those mostly consisted of pictures of butterflies and some of Tak’s highly nuanced views on ice cream and sugar cookies. So I figure I don’t need to subject everyone to that.
So… maybe not a flying-colors success for this plan. At least the kid had some backup. I mean, I’ve seen the scouting reports on those quillboar near Razor Hill. One of the reasons we’ve mostly left them alone is that they’re actually pretty weak and don’t pose any real threat to the town (Yeah, yeah, I know, some of you might have been told otherwise while you were working your way through Razor Hill on training assignments, but that’s just a little white lie to keep the busyworkers busy). Weak enough that even as a trainee, Gurtash shouldn’t have had that much trouble taking three of them — maybe even four — all by his lonesome.
So… more work to do. Back to the drawing board. I’ll come up with something.
More soon.
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Horde Iron Chef (part 2)
[This is usually the part where a writer would try to build in some catch-up exposition for the benefit of anyone who missed the first part, but you know what? Screw it. If you’re here at all, you’re probably on board with the idea of continuity. Nobody’s fault but your own if you’re confused! Moving on!]
LIADRIN: I wouldn’t mind trying some of that myself, Warchief.
GARROSH: Coming up.
LIADRIN: Would you like some, Salandria?
SALANDRIA: That’s okay. You can be the guinea pig for now.
While Garrosh serves up a bowl of noodles to Liadrin, Korrina and Kulkesh enter.
RUEKIE: Hi guys!
KORRINA: Hey.
KULKESH: Greetings, Captain. It’s–
Kulkesh trails off as Garrosh turns to them. He and Korrina stare for a moment.
KORRINA: Um.
KULKESH: Uh… that is… hi, sir. It’s… you really did get into the spirit of things, didn’t you, Captain…?
KORRINA: All I’m going to say is, um, you must be incredibly secure in yourself, sir…
GARROSH: Why is EVERYONE reacting like this?
SHAYARI: Would you like the reasons alphabetically, chronologically, or in order of how much they make me want to wear a bucket over my head for the next thousand years or so?
GARROSH: Okay, that’s it — NO NOODLES FOR YOU!
KULKESH: How are you feeling, Gurt?
GURTASH: Not bad. I mean, I’m still a little sore. And I’m still checking in with the healers every couple of days. But I’m pretty much recovered at this point.
KULKESH: Cool. You know, if you hadn’t come around soon, we were going to head over to Blackrock Spire and go dragon hunting ourselves.
KORRINA: Yeah, we were going to go all Wrathion on their asses.
GURTASH: Heh. I appreciate it, guys.
LIADRIN: I’m glad the healers are nearly done with your injuries, Gurtash. If you ever think it might help, I’m happy to cast a Flash of Light or two, although, granted, my areas of expertise are more in the realm of protection than healing.
MOKVAR: Too bad you weren’t with us in the Spire. We probably could have used a tank up there.
SHAYARI: Pip especially.
RUEKIE: Speaking of which, kind of, has anybody seen Mirembe?
KORRINA: She’s around here somewhere. We ran into her at one of the noodle stands.
KULKESH: I don’t know if she was going to stick around, though.
GURTASH: How come?
KORRINA: Oh, something about that Lantresor guy.
KULKESH: I think she ran into him while she was trying some food, and he made some comment about her weight, or something.
KORRINA: “Potbelly,” was it?
KULKESH: Yeah, I think so.
SHAYARI: Oh, spirits, THAT guy.
GURTASH: You know him?
SHAYARI: We’ve talked a couple times since he came to Orgrimmar. He’s a piece of work, let me tell you. Always going on and on about “oh, children of two worlds,” and “oh, we are alike, you and I,” and “you are not alone,” and “you are not alone,” and “ohh — did I mention? — you are not alone,” and I’m like, okay, I get it, I’m not alone, you’re making me wish I was, Professor YANA.
KORRINA: Old people are weird.
SALANDRIA: How old?
LIADRIN: Don’t start.
Ji enters, accompanied by Spazzle and Giska.
GARROSH: Ah, perfect, just the pudgeball I was looking for.
JI: Hello, Garrosh! Everyone!
SPAZZLE: Hey boss.
MOKVAR: Afternoon, Ji. Everything finally set up?
JI: Almost. Not quite. There’s an even better turnout than I’d expected!
SPAZZLE: Which means even more setup for us to do on the fly…
MOKVAR: How did he rope you into this anyway, Spaz?
GARROSH: Yeah, Pea Pod, I would’ve figured he’d have plenty of pandas to call in on this, seeing as, you know, this IS a panda festival.
JI: Oh, many of the Huojin have been busy working on the festival, sir. But they’ve mostly been cooking.
SPAZZLE: Which left plenty more setup work that Ji needed me to lend a hand with. At an hourly rate, anyway.
JI: Wait, you meant that? I thought you were joking!
SPAZZLE: Hey, I’ve got billing rules to follow! I’m in a union, you know!
MOKVAR: I thought it was a cartel.
SPAZZLE: We’re goblins! Same difference!
JI: But we’re friends!
SPAZZLE: Yeah, well, time is money, friend!
GARROSH: So listen, Deep Dish, you have somewhere I can set up? Probably with some space around it, for when people start flocking to get a taste of my stuff here.
Korrina, Gurtash, Kulkesh, and Giska all turn to look at Ruekie.
RUEKIE: <aside> I’m not saying anything!
KORRINA: <aside> You’re sure? You looked like you were about to say something.
RUEKIE: <aside> No no no, I’m keeping my mouth shut from now on! Every time I open my mouth, somebody sticks– hoooooo boy I almost did it again! Whew!
JI: Well, Garrosh… hmm. I still need to set up a few stations, but…
GARROSH: <pointing> What about right over here? Looks like you’ve got a couple spots.
JI: Well, yes, one of those is reserved, but I suppose you can take the other. Do you need a hand setting up?
GARROSH: Pfft, what’s there to set up?
Garrosh drops his pot on the table with a heavy thud.
OH HEY, we’ve got a cooking fire here and everything.
JI: Oh yes, several of the stations have them. Many of our participants are cooking right here on the premises!
GARROSH: Ah, nice, this way I can whip up a little MORE of this stuff, seeing as we’re probably gonna go through it pretty quick, even before we figure in Mokvar’s little pink friend.
MOKVAR: Uh, yeah, sorry about that again.
GARROSH: Actually… here.
Garrosh reaches over to Mokvar and yanks a page from his pack, sending some of his inscription gear spilling to the ground.
MOKVAR: <gathering his belongings> You know you could have just asked.
GARROSH: <scribbling on the page> Yeah, yeah, boo hoo. You two, front and center.
Korrina and Kulkesh go to Garrosh.
KULKESH: Yes, sir!
GARROSH: Giska, you too.
Giska joins them.
I assume you’re done with her now, Lunchbox.
JI: Actually, Warchief, we still–
GARROSH: My trainee, your student, I outrank you, done, boom.
JI: Oh bother…
GARROSH: <handing the paper to Giska> Okay, you three. Zip over to the market by Grommash Hold and pick up the stuff on this list for me.
KULKESH: Yes, sir!
GISKA: <scanning the list> Uh, just one thing, Captain. This looks like a lot — what do we do for money?
GARROSH: You tell the vendors you’re there on orders of the Warchief, and boy this is a nice little shop you’ve got here, and it sure would be a goddamn shame if somebody went and got blood stains all over it.
KORRINA: <clapping once and rubbing her hands together> Talkin’ my language, sir. On it!
GARROSH: Okay. Off with the lot of you.
While Giska, Korrina, and Kulkesh run off, Faranell enters, sporting a jaw that’s conspicuously mismatched with the rest of his face.
LIADRIN: Doctor! Good afternoon. You’re looking… um… well.
MOKVAR: Edwin! It’s good to see… see you… erm… you… Uh, yeah… so I guess we’ve both gone through some changes since last time I saw you, but…
SHAYARI: Difference is, Beardy, your changes get a lot less obvious once you dip into the back of your closet…
FARANELL: Ah, yes, the ideal person to comment on the current state of my appearance.
SHAYARI: Hey, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to duck fast enough, Eddie!
GARROSH: Hey, Doc, you…
Garrosh stares at Faranell a moment.
Okay, so…
Garrosh stares a moment longer.
I know I might end up regretting I asked this, but…
FARANELL: It’s a loaner. I’m just using it while my regular jaw is in the shop.
GARROSH: I… see.
MOKVAR: Gotta say, Edwin, you Forsaken have a really weird way of life sometimes.
FARANELL: Fancy that, that a community of reanimated corpses might have certain oddities in their cultural norms.
MOKVAR: Uh… right.
SALANDRIA: Wait, his… his jaw is in the shop? Did I hear that right?
LIADRIN: Yes, Dr. Faranell had a bit of an incident involving his jaw.
FARANELL: Yes, much in the same sense that Theramore had something of an incident involving the Focusing Iris.
SALANDRIA: What happened?
GARROSH: Oh geez, here we go…
FARANELL: Mana bomb.
SALANDRIA: No, not that!
GARROSH: Oh for FUCK’S sake.
SALANDRIA: I know that part! I mean your jaw!
SHAYARI: Cue the QQ. Or, you know, Q^3.
FARANELL: Suffice to say that my freshly harvested and installed jaw suffered some structural damage when I attempted to dissuade my would-be erstwhile apprentice from racing after her newly discovered father to a ruined dragon’s lair.
SHAYARI: And you know, there isn’t one single part of that sentence that would be possible if any of us led normal lives.
FARANELL: And, incidentally, just to put the button on the whole sordid affair, I am still waiting for certain reimbursements to be made.
GARROSH: Oh, for fuck’s sake. I… okay, FINE. After we’re done with the whole noodle thing here, I’ll get your damn gold. Are you fucking HAPPY now?
FARANELL: Beside myself with delirium. Bear in mind, also, that in light of the time that’s passed, certain sums of interest have accrued.
GARROSH: Fucking hell, are you kidding me? INTEREST now?!
SPAZZLE: Hey, don’t look at me. He came up with that on his own.
GARROSH: Please don’t tell me you trudged out here just to be a pain in the ass over this.
FARANELL: Oh hardly.
GARROSH: Yeah, good.
FARANELL: I’m a mage. I can teleport. I didn’t have to trudge at all.
Speaking of trudging, Malkorok returns doing just that, with Garrosh’s extra pot of noodles still in hand.
SHAYARI: Anyhow, I don’t think Eddie popped over to join the party, Pops.
Malkorok approaches Garrosh’s station and drops his pot on the counter.
MALKOROK: <aside> I’ve spoken to the guards who were charged with overseeing this area.
MOKVAR: Well, if I remember right, undead don’t really have that much of a sense of taste, so…
GARROSH: <aside> Good. What did they have to say for themselves?
MALKOROK: <aside> Very little. I’ll speak to their widows tomorrow.
SALANDRIA: Oh wow, you can’t taste anything? That must suck.
GARROSH: <aside> Yeah, send them a ham or something.
FARANELL: Not quite. We Forsaken have a sense of taste, just a muted one. It’s why I typically favor spicy foods, since the stronger flavors are more perceptible.
GARROSH: Huh. Well, in that case, Doc, you’re probably gonna like these. <spoons out a serving from his pot> These ought to have enough of a kick that you should–
Garrosh starts to hand the bowl to Faranell; as he does, Deliana unstealths and grabs it from Garrosh’s hand.
DELIANA: Another helping? Don’t mind if I do!
Deliana stealths again and vanishes.
MALKOROK: What–?!
GARROSH: Um.
MOKVAR: Don’t look at me.
GARROSH: <spinning back to Malkorok> HEY, MALK, IT SURE WOULD BE AWESOME IF WE HAD A LITTLE SECURITY IN THE FUCKING CAPITAL CITY!
MALKOROK: <grumbling> Yes, sir… I’ll be back again…
Malkorok starts to storm off, passing Mokvar.
One day you’ll be called to account for your odious taste in friends, scribe.
MOKVAR: I don’t know where you got the idea we were friends.
Malkorok grumbles more and marches off.
GARROSH: Okay, well, I’ll hook you up with another serving in a second here, Doc…
FARANELL: No need, really. I’m mainly here for work reasons.
GARROSH: Work reasons? How?
MOKVAR: You’ve known him long enough that you should probably know better than to ask that question.
FARANELL: Research, and potential sample collection. I figured that at an event like this, someone was bound to produce something usefully toxic, just by the law of averages.
GARROSH: Ah.
JI: Oh, no, Dr. Edwin, I can assure you everyone here is being very careful with their food.
FARANELL: Yes, I suppose, but one can always hope.
Faranell reaches into his cloak and produces an empty vial.
Now don’t mind me; I’m just going to hover around a bit in case someone — cross fingers — turns green.
MOKVAR: Hmph. Or turns chalky white and drops dead?
FARANELL: Touche.
GARROSH: By the way, Lunchbox, are there any kind of prizes for this shindig? Any judges who’ll be coming around that I should be looking to impress and not at all threaten with physical violence, no not at all?
JI: No, sir, no prizes. The only competition in an event like this is with oneself!
GARROSH: Yeah, I should have figured you pandas would be a little too touchy-feely for a straight-up contest.
JI: Not so! The Noodle Festival is meant to be a day of community and sharing, yes, but there’s a long Pandaren tradition of competitive cooking as well!
MOKVAR: You guys really do take your food seriously, don’t you?
SPAZZLE: You wouldn’t have to ask that if you’d been with us shopping this morning.
LIADRIN: What kind of cooking contests do you have, Ji?
JI: Well, one of our most honored customs is… well, the name doesn’t quite translate precisely, but I suppose the nearest approximation would be… “Iron Chef.” It’s a competition in which challengers are given a secret ingredient without notice and must prepare a gourmet meal with it in a limited window of time.
SPAZZLE: That actually sounds kind of cool.
MOKVAR: Spazz, you live on cheap take-out.
SPAZZLE: I know, but this has a whole mad scientist angle that I can appreciate.
FARANELL: Indeed, not to mention that rushed food preparation leaves ample room for hazardous contaminants to come into play. Not that anyone would wish for such a terrible thing, of course.
JI: Based on how well the festival is being received, perhaps we could adapt the competition for the Horde as well!
MOKVAR: Sort of a Horde Iron Chef? Or… Iron Horde Chef? Or… I don’t know, something like that, I guess.
GARROSH: I don’t know about the contest, but fuck, I LOVE the ring of “Iron Horde” — that sounds fucking BADASS, dude.
SHAYARI: Maybe you should look into rebranding, Pops.
GARROSH: MAYBE I SHOULD.
Dontrag, Utvoch, and Taktani enter, carrying boxes.
Don’t think I won’t get right on that shit and…
Dontrag et al start putting their boxes down at the station next to Garrosh.
And…
UTVOCH: Greetings, Warchief!
GARROSH: <turns to Ji> You’re fucking kidding me, right?
TAKTANI: Ooh everybody’s here! And we get to be next to Mr. Warchief! This is going to be so fun! Yay!
GARROSH: Oh fuck me…
RUEKIE: <aside> Oh, sure, he says that and nobody bats an eye…
DONTRAG: A pleasure to see you as always, your supreme Warchieferousness, sir!
GARROSH: Maybe if I don’t make eye contact they’ll assume I don’t know they’re there…
UTVOCH: Sir?
TAKTANI: Mr. Warchief?
JI: Yes, sir. <turning to Dontrag and Utvoch> Well then, Utvoch… Dontrag…
DONTRAG: I’m Dontrag. He’s Utvoch.
UTVOCH: Oh man. I knew I should have brought the letter…
JI: Oh. Okay. Well, your cooking station is ready. I’m looking forward to finding out what you’re making for us!
DONTRAG: Yeah, so are we.
JI: Pardon?
UTVOCH: Well, we don’t really have a recipe that we’re using.
JI: Oh…?
MOKVAR: Uh oh…
DONTRAG: We don’t know any noodle recipes, so we figured we’d just grab a bunch of ingredients and see what we could come up with on the fly!
GARROSH: Yeah, I don’t see any way that this could go wrong…
FARANELL: Now now, let’s not be hasty. I may be about to hit pay dirt.
TAKTANI: Oh hiiiiii Dr. Zombie!
FARANELL: Oh dear.
TAKTANI: I’m super happy to see you again!
Shayari giggles.
MOKVAR: Wait, she knows Edwin?
LIADRIN: I believe she met him a time or two when I first accompanied Shayari to Orgrimmar.
MOKVAR: And I missed this?
SHAYARI: I might possibly have maybe brought her with me a couple weeks ago when I went to the Undercity for a mage lesson, too. Possibly.
GARROSH: Oh, yeah, piss off the creditor even more.
TAKTANI: It was fun! I like Zombie Town! It’s kind of stinky, but that’s okay — it’s like a big haunted house! BOO! Hee hee!
SHAYARI: Kind of like it’s Hallow’s End all the time, right, Tak?
TAKTANI: I knowwwwww!
FARANELL: Must you encourage her?
GARROSH: Right there with you, Doc…
TAKTANI: Ooh! Ooh! Do you do Hallow’s End costumes in Zombie Town, Dr. Zombie? What are you going to be this year??
FARANELL: Far, far, away, Dark Lady permitting.
TAKTANI: Oh. <scratches her head> I don’t know what that looks like, but I bet it’ll be fun!
SHAYARI: You’ll have to go with me again so you can see, Tak!
TAKTANI: Yay! I get to come visit again! Won’t that be fun, Dr. Zombie?
FARANELL: Oh yes. My heart is utterly overflowing with joy.
TAKTANI: Yay! Hee hee!
FARANELL: Or possibly infectious bile. It’s hard to tell. My heart hasn’t beaten in over a decade, after all.
TAKTANI: <blinks> Huh?
FARANELL: Nothing to trouble yourself over. Just think of my heart as you would, say, your brain.
GARROSH: Lot of that going around with this crew, Doc.
DONTRAG: I don’t get it.
GARROSH: Case in point.
FARANELL: Indeed.
Giska, Korrina, and Kulkesh return with several large packages, which they put down at Garrosh’s station.
KULKESH: Good news, sir — Olvia just got some fresh talbuk steaks in.
GARROSH: <sorting through packages> Good deal. You kids get everything?
KORRINA: I think so, Captain. The vendors kind of fumbled their way through the whole order.
GISKA: Maybe next time don’t start breaking fingers right away?
KORRINA: Maybe next time mofos don’t get lippy.
GARROSH: Yeah, well, here, now that you’ve all earned your keep, have some grub.
Garrosh passes bowls of noodles to Giska, Korrina, and Kulkesh.
GISKA: Thanks, Captain!
KULKESH: Smells good, sir.
LIADRIN: I must say, Garrosh, I’m surprised — these are quite good.
GARROSH: Why is everyone always shocked out of their minds any time they find out I can do something other than punch people and scratch my ass?
MOKVAR: To be fair, you don’t exactly project complexity…
LIADRIN: You said these were a family recipe, Warchief?
GISKA: They’re not bad, Captain.
GARROSH: Kind of. I sort of improvised around something Greatmother used to make back in Nagrand.
LIADRIN: Did she teach you?
GARROSH: Not really, I just — what’s with you, Korrina? Something wrong with your food?
KORRINA: Uh, not really, sir. <poking awkwardly at her noodles with chopsticks> I mean, they look good, and they smell good… I’ll let you know how they taste once I figure out how to use these damn things.
KULKESH: They’re a little awkward at first, yeah, but they’re not so bad once you get used to them.
SHAYARI: <reaching back and adjusting the chopsticks in her hair> Oh, hey, is that what these things are supposed to be for? I was wondering why they were giving them out.
Korrina starts to pick up some noodles with her chopsticks, only to have them slip loose and drop back into her bowl.
KORRINA: Ugh — yeah, this isn’t so bad at all…
GISKA: No no, try like this… see, you keep one of them balanced against your thumb, and…
Korrina takes another stab at her food with the chopsticks, but loses her grip, sending one chopstick — and most of the noodles she was picking up — spilling onto the ground.
KORRINA: Dammit! <throws her other chopstick down> Oh hell with it…
Korrina reaches over to Ruekie and snaps one of the ornamental forks off of her shoulder guards, then uses it to pick up some noodles.
RUEKIE: Hey!
KORRINA: There.
RUEKIE: Aw, man…
DONTRAG: Uh, Ut, what did you put into those?
UTVOCH: Huh? I didn’t put anything. I just cooked the noodles.
DONTRAG: But they’re all gooey or something.
TAKTANI: That was me, Mr. D!
UTVOCH: You added something? What did you put in there?
TAKTANI: Cheese!
DONTRAG: Wait, what? Cheese doesn’t… I mean, how does that even work?
TAKTANI: <blinks> Um… I like cheese!
UTVOCH: You know, this doesn’t smell half bad…
TAKTANI: So noodles are good, and cheese is good, so now they can all be good together!
DONTRAG: Tak, you can’t just… I mean, who puts cheese in noodles?
TAKTANI: I’d take it out if you want, Mr. D, but it’s all melty now!
UTVOCH: It actually smells pretty good…
DONTRAG: Noodles and cheese? Really?
UTVOCH: <eating some of the noodles> Donty, seriously, try some of this…
TAKTANI: Do you like it? Yay!
KULKESH: Hey, you know, that does smell pretty good over there…
While Kulkesh, Korrina, and Giska make their way over to Dontrag and Utvoch’s station, Malkorok returns.
MALKOROK: I’ve put additional patrols around the gates, Warchief. It would of course be easier if so many of these… people… weren’t wandering around, but it should suffice for now.
GARROSH: Yeah, well, we can’t exactly barricade off half the city.
MALKOROK: Yes, sir.
KULKESH: Oh wow, this really does taste good!
GISKA: Noodles and cheese — who would’ve guessed?
Ji leans over Dontrag, Utvoch, and Taktani’s pot while Gurtash, Ruekie, and Salandria gather around.
JI: <sniffing> Ooh, a triumphant culinary experiment, I see! Don’t mind if I try some myself…
Ji reaches over Dontrag’s shoulder and scoops some noodles into his (cartoonishly oversized) bowl.
GARROSH: What the… does that crap even have any damn MEAT in it?
TAKTANI: Oh don’t worry, Mr. Warchief! Nobody had to hurt any poor animals for this!
GARROSH: For fuck’s sake, the murder’s the tastiest part!
MOKVAR: I don’t know, boss, looks like they’re starting to draw a following.
Spazzle eyes the passersby who have started to gather around D&U&T’s station, then leans up to try to peek in their pot.
SPAZZLE: Huh… Uh, Tak?
TAKTANI: Hi, Mr. Goblin!
SPAZZLE: Uh, yeah, hi. So… what kind of cheese did you put in there?
TAKTANI: Oh, nothing fancy, Mr. Goblin. Just regular old cheddar!
SPAZZLE: Huh… that stuff barely costs a few silver…
TAKTANI: We could use another kind if you’d like it more!
SPAZZLE: No, it’s not that, just… Uh, Utvoch? Aren’t those noodles the kind they have in those little packets from Pandaria?
UTVOCH: Oh, yeah, that’s why I got them. They’re crazy cheap — they’re only something like eight copper a pack, so you can get a ton of them and barely spend anything.
SPAZZLE: Yeah, uh, that’s what I thought.
Spazzle looks at the growing line, then thinks a moment.
So… how would you guys feel about a business venture…?
UTVOCH: Uh… maybe?
GARROSH: Okay, fuck it, I have to see what the big fucking deal is with this crap.
Garrosh shoves Utvoch out of the way and scoops some of the noodles and cheese into a bowl.
It doesn’t even SMELL like anything special, I don’t know why there’s people coming out of the damn woodwork to–
Deliana unstealths and lifts the bowl out of Garrosh’s hands.
DELIANA: Oh, you need a taste tester? Sure thing, Garry!
Deliana stealths again and disappears.
GARROSH: <spinning back to Malkorok> WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR?!
So, you know. That went about as well as anything else I fucking try to do around here. I really might have to look into that “Iron Horde” thing, though. It seriously does sound fucking badass.
More soon.
Warchiefing for dummies
So it occurs to me that not everybody is a natural leader like I am, but maybe you’re in a position where you’re saddled with some kind of authority. Maybe you didn’t even ask for the job, but it got handed to you anyway. You’re probably in over your head, actually, what with you not being ME or anything, but you’ve got the job regardless and now you’ve got to make the best of it. And so I know what you’re thinking: “Dammit, Garrosh, how can I be awesome like you at this?”
Well, I’ve got good news and bad news for you, skipper. The bad news is, sorry, you can’t be awesome like me. Let’s be real here, right? But the good news is that you CAN at least learn to suck a little less. And to help you out with that, here comes your favorite Warchief to lay down the ins and outs of kickass, badass, all-around-ass pro leadership.
Or: WARCHIEFING FOR DUMMIES.
Now before everybody starts shitting themselves based on the title, don’t panic, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not getting ready to hand off leadership to somebody else, and even if I did I would probably just be trolling or some shit. No, don’t worry, you get to look forward to having ol’ Garrosh in charge for a good long time still.
What this IS is a set of handy-dandy guidelines for making the most of your own leadership position. Maybe you’re a military commander. Like me. Or maybe you’re a guild leader on Earth Online. Like me. Or maybe you run your own… I don’t know, you run your own diner, like a barbeque place specializing in the awesomeness of pork, maybe call it Bacon R Us or something. Which, holy shit, if that place DOESN’T already exist, somebody needs to get on the stick and open it like pronto, because I’ll be over for dinner like fucking TONIGHT. Table for two, 7:15. Make sure you’ve got extra sauce stocked.
Point is, though, if you don’t have the benefit of being ME, then you could probably benefit from getting a little more me-ness in your operation. So, here’s your very own personal desperately needed guide to getting some Garrosh in you. (Ladies.)
So, let’s get down to some Warchiefing.
THE BASICS
So, this first point should be painfully obvious to anyone who isn’t stupid, but if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that assuming someone isn’t stupid is almost always a losing proposition. So I’ll go ahead and point out the obvious to you fuckers: being an authority figure means having authority OVER someone. And the more authority you have, the more of those someones you’ve got, until you make your way all the way up to my level, where you’re so much of a boss that people look at you and try to fathom just how much of a boss you are and their heads just go blank and all they can come up with is “??” Only you’re NOT really going to make your way up to that level, because that level is my level, and nobody else is going to reach that level while I’m around, so don’t go getting any ideas.
SO.
If you’re the person in charge, that means you have minions. Hopefully, your minions aren’t as FUCKING INCOMPETENT as most of MY minions, but, you know, good luck there. Point is, though, one way or another, those minions are what you’ve got to work with. Which leads us to our first few Warchiefing guidelines:
USE YOUR DAMN MINIONS
This should be pretty obvious — you might be noticing a theme developing already — but let’s be honest here. If obvious shit was really obvious to everyone, they wouldn’t need me to point it out. Obvious is only obvious to people with enough brains to see the… obviosity. YES THAT’S A FUCKING WORD. Obviously.
The point is, your minions are there to work for you. So put them to work. Delegate. Figure out what your minions don’t completely suck at, and get those motherfuckers busy doing that. If at all possible, also try to watch out for what they DO completely suck at, and then, don’t let them do that. This last item might be hard to manage, depending on how stupid the minions in question are. One way or another, though, get them working. If the shit they’re able to do lines up with shit you’d just as soon avoid yourself, by the way? WIN-WIN.
Case in point: when I first became Warchief, one of the biggest surprises was just how much time I ended up being stuck with paperwork. Like you would not BELIEVE how many forms need to get filled out in an average day of running an ambiguously structured quasi-totalitarian regime the dictatorial nature of which only became questionable to anyone once it was being run by the guy WITHOUT the fucking messiah complex. I think I might have digressed a little there. But anyway. I had all this paperwork piling, form after form to fill out, and hoo boy was that eating up my day and leaving me precious little time to… you know… play computer games and write EPIC VERSE. And just… be awesome and stuff. But LO AND BEHOLD, right there in Grommash Hold with me was old man Eitrigg, with his nice tidy penmanship and his cushy retirement plan that he didn’t want to cash in on even though he was like a zillion years old, and his charming habit of bitching and moaning to me about everything and anything if he didn’t have something to keep him otherwise occupied. So what did I do? That’s right, I KEPT HIS ASS FUCKING OCCUPIED.
Actually, scratch that. That made it sound vaguely dirty, and OH SHIT I bet Rule 34 has already engaged. Shit. Okay, well, moving on.
The point is, I shuffled that paperwork right on over to the old dude, and let him worry about “in triplicate” being a depressingly recurrent phrase in his life, while I freed myself up to get back to things more in line with my Warchieferous stature. DELEGATION, bitches.
So, as much as possible, you need to have a clear, solid sense of what your people have going for them, so you can use them effectively. Here, take a few examples of what I’m talking about:
So, see, that gives you a basic sense of what you need to know about what your people bring to the table. Actually, come to think of it, that could be a pretty cool resource: like have a table where you could have all that information about your minions gathered in one place, and then you use it to assign them to whatever missions need to be covered, and then you can dispatch them right from there.
Hmm.
Actually, fuck that. I bet that setup would be cool for like a week or two, then become fucking BORING. Fuck that. I don’t want to be stuck at a damn desk all the time. I want to get out there and do some stuff myself. OKAY THEN, on second thought:
HANDS-ON LEADERSHIP
Let’s be honest here. Contrary to what the touchy-feely motherfuckers of the world would have you believe, it’s not a matter of stepping back and letting your people do their job and trusting them not to fuck it up. They’re GOING to fuck it up, okay? I’m just telling you the facts here. The fucking math doesn’t lie. Odds are, they’re going to fuck something up. You could give them a job to do that’s got, like, a fucking 99% chance of working, and just you watch them dig down deep and crowbar their stupid asses into that 1%. And that’s when you sometimes have to be ready to get out there in the field and show those dumbasses how shit gets done. So whether it’s blood elves who can’t figure out why they’re getting their baby teeth kicked in by a bunch of statues, or blood elves who think it’s a hot idea to send one random scrub into an enemy lair, or blood elves… I don’t know. Some third thing. Probably involving blood elves. POINT IS, don’t be afraid to roll up your sleeves and take matters into your own hands.
For one thing, it’s good for morale when the troops see you out there in the trenches with them. Plus, that way, when they DO fuck up, and then you pimp in and show them how fucking easy it is for a non-jackass to do things, well, you’ve already given them enough rope to hang themselves, so now you get to come down like a mountain of hellfire on them, and if they happen to leave some rope literally lying around the joint, maybe even ACTUALLY hang them. Because THAT’S how you make sure that the NEXT batch of minions sees what happens when fuckuppery ensues, and maybe get more motivated to have their asses in gear than the last (late) bunch of minions.
See, at the end of the day, it’s all about the tough love.
So go on, get out there, kick some ass, take some names, then use the names to yell at the motherfuckers while you kick their asses some more. You’ll feel better, believe me.
THE BIG PICTURE
The biggest reason you want to delegate, though, isn’t because you’re lazy, or because you want to amuse yourself watching the B-listers try to stay on top of an A-list job and almost certainly shit all over themselves as a result, or because you prefer spending your time eating an assortment of tasty lemon squares off of an assortment of tasty groupies. I mean, you probably do, because really, but that’s not the main reason. The most important reason to delegate is because the jobs you’re going to delegate, no matter how important they might be, they’re just the DETAILS. But YOU are the one who’s mapped out how those details are going to add up to something. You’re the one thinking five steps ahead. You’re the man with the plan. OR WOMAN, OR WOMAN, DON’T START WRITING FUCKING LETTERS, GEEZ.
Point is, you’re the one who’s got it all figured out, because seriously, does THAT sound like a job you want to leave to the Dontrags and Utvochs of the world? No, of course not. They don’t know what the fuck’s going on. When you send your minions into a situation, they don’t have the sense to realize all the things that could go wrong. But YOU do — you know perfectly well all the ways the operation could — probably WILL — end up blowing up in everyone’s face. So you need to stay freed up to continue figuring out all the reasons why the mission is doomed to failure and is probably a bad idea to begin with, and then send their asses out to give it the ol’ college try anyway. Probably the ol’ COMMUNITY college try, given the likely state of your minions, but still.
That’s all I’ve got for now. I might add to it another time if more unfathomable genius comes to me.
More soon.
