Tag Archives: the razza
Mortimer vs. the Razza
Since I kind of promised to fill in the details yesterday of Mortimer’s role in my showdown with Skarr, I figured I’d take a minute today to do that. And considering what a kickass job Mortimer did of it, too, I figure there’s only one appropriate form…
Skarr went off to Feralas on a mission for the cult,
With the hope an ogre relic could raise Cho’gall as result,
And he made his camp in secret while his agents ranged afield,
And he waited there to reap the gains their search would surely yield.
His mission was a secret, details shared with precious few;
Even where he’d made his base was known by only one or two.
So when they went to see him, hardly had they neared his lair
When their path was intercepted by the Razza in the air.
Its wingspan was enormous, dozen yards across at least,
And one hardly could imagine how Skarr’d tamed the vicious beast;
But he somehow bent its will to his, this hunter sans compare,
And the Lower Wilds were now watched by the Razza from the air.
He’d lived there long amid the Wilds and Dire Maul and therein,
And his terror was the stuff of tales told by the Woodpaw kin,
For when the primitives would hunt, they’d fear not wolf or bear,
But they’d tread in dread that they might see the Razza in the air.
So now when Skarr set up his camp, he’d have the Razza spy
Down upon all those who dared come near from vantage of the sky;
And any who approached the camp was spotted unaware,
Then swoop and clutch, away were swept by Razza in the air.
And so when Garrosh found him and descended from the cliff,
Skarr engaged the orc in battle with an air of “Yeah, as if.”
For he knew he needed only hold his ground and keep it close,
Till the Razza could arrive, and then it would be adios.
Skarr held his own as best he could, and scored a hit or two,
When in the skies his eyes did spy vast wings of white and blue;
And Garrosh knew the day was his, until to his chagrin
He found a wild chimaera clawing wildly at his skin.
The Razza swooped in close to strike, and spewed blue fiery breath,
And let aloose a fiendish shriek from both its beastly heads.
And Garrosh felt the blue flames as he took another hit,
And they didn’t hurt, but it was hard to see through all that shit.
Now Skarr attacked reenergized and pressed the battle on,
And Garrosh ceded ground while he kept being flamed upon.
When suddenly there came a growl—Skarr scarcely realized where—
As wyvern talons tore into the Razza in the air.
Blue wings were met with brown as they raced in as if a blur,
And Garrosh yelled victoriously, “Go get ’im, Mortimer!”
He didn’t need to tell him twice: of wyvern wrath beware!
And Mortimer let loose upon the Razza in the air.
His biting was a frenzy and his slashing claws were fluid,
For “The Razza” say the Woodpaw, but “Mortimer” quoth the druid;
Another slash with furious claws, another vicious tear;
And blood was on the ground beneath the Razza in the air.
A blue-white wing was torn to shreds, a horn shattered like glass;
The Razza wailed as Mortimer was handing him his ass.
He yanked him back and clawed him deep, and clutched him from behind
And clawed at one of his two heads till it was rendered blind.
The desperate Razza spun around and flung Mortimer wide,
The wyvern crashing awkwardly into the mountainside;
He sprawled in pain on aching back, his upper hand upstaged,
And the Razza saw its final chance, and dove in feral rage.
The chimaera shrieked murd’rously and fell upon its prey,
While Mortimer grasped panicked for the one that got away.
A slashing, tearing pair of claws, and fangs fresh-drenched with blood,
Then a horrifying wail, followed by a lifeless thud.
Now somewhere in Feralas, Twilight cultists gloat and preen,
While the Grimtotem and ogres share the tales of what they’ve seen.
But the hunter is the hunted, predator is prey instead,
And there is no joy for Skarr, son, ’cause the Razza’s fucking dead.
EPIC VERSE!
Better luck next time, irony
Okay, so maybe backup isn’t such a bad idea. That was big ol’ pain in the ass.
So I climbed down the mountain a ways and watched the gnoll camp for more signs of Skarr. At this point he was pretty visible, so I climbed down a little more, jumped off from a ledge, and then pulled one of my favorite moves EVAR – the cannonball mid-air falling CHARGE! Jump, falling, whoosh, WHAM right up in your face, and stunned to boot (probably in more ways than one)! Only pro warriors need apply.
And so, I don’t know why this would surprise me, but turns out, yeah, Skarr is about as batshit crazy as all the other Twilight people we’ve come across. As in, FUCKING COMPLETELY. The whole time I was fighting him he kept ranting and raving, and referring to himself in the third person – “Skarr” this, “Skarr” that – and so yeah, that settled the question of whether this was the right ogre, in case there ever was one. (And okay, let’s be fair, I guess it’s POSSIBLE he might not have been, and hoo boy, if it turned out he wasn’t, and I had charged and slammed him anyway, would my face have been red.) (No, wait, it wouldn’t. EXCEPT FROM THE BLOOD.) Anyway, he kept yammering on while we got to fighting, word salad half the time. We hacked away at each other, and he was hanging in there but really not posing much of a threat, when who should show up but the damn giant chimaera again. Swooped on in and starting breathing this freakish blue fire at me. Which really only sort of tickled a little, but it was annoying as hell.
Thing is, though, even that didn’t last too long. Because, you see, as it happens, Skarr wasn’t the only one with friends flying around the area, and, well, let me just put it this way:
Wyvern > Chimaera.
(Seriously, you should have seen Mortimer go to town on that thing. As a matter of fact, remind me to go into more detail about it later. You’ll thank me.)
So, it was back to me and Skarr, which being as it was a one-on-one fight now, really kind of left the fucking ogre outnumbered basically. I had him backed up to one of the ratty tents and was pretty obviously wearing him down, and at that point it was just a question of how to beat him without actually killing him, when all of a sudden I started feeling kind of weak in the legs. I stumbled a little, got my balance back, then went back to swinging at him…only my arms were feeling weaker now too. I damn near missed a parry on that huge fucking axe of his – and I NEVER have close calls like that. A couple more inches and he would have gotten my head. As I was pushing his axe back again – taking more effort that I should have needed, mind you – it hit me: the blade was poisoned. He hadn’t gotten a good hit on me the whole fight, but there had been a few glancing blows, just minor cuts really…but that would have been enough for the poison to take hold.
I took a second to reset my footing again, and you could tell he’d noticed I was off my game now, and he started pressing back more, and pushing me toward the hillside. I was still holding my own at this point, but it was taking more and more effort, and I could feel the poison kicking in and weakening me more. And I have to admit, as much as I know you have to stay focused in combat, I couldn’t help thinking how familiar it was.
So this is what it’s like to be on the other end of it.
Maybe I’ve had this coming. Maybe this is what balances the scales.
And right when I’m about ready to come out on the losing end of this one, cause of death: poetic justice, Skarr suddenly seizes up, locked in place with his head jerking up, then a second later splats down onto the ground unconscious, with Garona standing there behind him looking all proud of herself. Rogues and their sap-stun-kidney-shot-gouge-cheap-shot bullshit. Well, hey, I fucking wore him down for her first, so, you know.
We’ve just finished carrying him back to Stonemaul Hold. (And thank the spirits for that camel – that ogre was one HEAVY motherfucker.) We’ve got him detained in the main cave there, and we’ll be questioning him as soon as he comes to, and the camp apothecary hooks me up with a poultice to take care of the damn poison. Based on the word salad he was spouting out before, this should be interesting.
Hunting Skarr
Since I’m going to be out in the field on ogre duty the next couple days, I won’t be doing a mailbag today. Don’t worry, keep those e-mails coming, we’ll have one soon for sure. Meanwhile…
Garona and I split up on our way out of the Steam Pools resort. She disappeared off into the woods heading back into Feralas, and I took off by air with Mortimer. (For those of you keeping score, I had Mokvar go ahead to Stonemaul Hold to wait for us.)
It took a little circling around the Lower Wilds, but I ended up spotting the abandoned gnoll camp that the Twilights were talking about. There were a few tattered tents left standing among the hills, and a campfire tucked away in one corner under cover of trees and rocks, so it wasn’t letting off a lot of smoke that would be easily visible. On a couple passes I thought I could see some movement, but I tried not to get so close that I’d be noticed. Not yet, anyway. I wanted to get as good a look as I could at what we were going to be up against first.
On one circle around, I spotted some red and purple poking out from the foliage. No shock – a couple Twilight cultists, coming in from the northwest. Couldn’t get that good a look at them from the altitude I was at, but I could swear they were a dwarf and a troll, so they could have been the two that got away from me back at Isildien. Turns out it was a good thing I was keeping a good distance – after they were wandering through the woods some, all of a sudden there was this piercing shriek, and an enormous blue and white chimaera swooped in out of nowhere, grabbed the two Twilights up one in each talon, and flew off.
I followed the chimaera at a distance while it flew – you guessed it – back to the gnoll camp. This time, there wasn’t any question about whether someone was home. A pretty good-sized ogre in warlord’s armor was waiting at the edge of the camp. Place your bets among yourselves as to whether that would be Skarr. (Pro tip: Don’t bet your Vial of the Sands money that he’s not.) The chimaera flew in, dropped the two Twilights in front of the ogre, then hovered there nearby. I’m not positive but I think I even saw the ogre pat it on the head. From what I could see, it looked like the ogre and the Twilights were talking back and forth some, and then the ogre looked much more animated like something was upsetting him…then broke into this big laugh. The cultists meanwhile started seeming more jittery, and then broke out screaming about something just as Skarr waved his arm around in the air and walked away, and next thing you knew the chimaera was back on the cultists, grabbing them up again and flying off with them, screaming all the way, clear as day now.
So, again, some of these ogres really know how to get shit done.
I’ve just landed on the mountainside overlooking the camp, and I’m using Spazzle’s why-fly gizmo to make this post while I get set to pay our ogre friend a visit. No sign of Garona, but hey, since when do I need backup, right?
More soon.
[Header image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate, used here with permission and many thanks.]
