Tag Archives: wyvern abuse

Monday Mailbag

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Don’t forget to make your last-minute suggestions for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge this week! The last installment was the Sylvanas poem from Friday, so be sure to put your ideas in the comments there. In the meantime, let’s have a look at this week’s mail…

 

Dear Warchief,

Since you’ve shown an interest in this week’s Noblegarden activities, I thought you might want to know about some rather…strange events going on around them. Down here in Bloodhoof Village, many of us have been engaging in the traditional egg hunts. As you probably already know, some of those eggs are magical, and when gathered they spawn several bunnies. So fairly early on in the holiday season, the village ends up being filled with dozens of these little rabbits, hopping around all over the place and going about their business.

That much is fine, it’s part of the holiday and we don’t mind the rabbits at all. The problem is that this year, we’re having an extra, unexpected guest whom we weren’t expecting. A few days into Noblegarden, the forest nymph Mylune, whom I think you’ve met, showed up unannounced and…well…just started going nuts. Not violent nuts or anything, she just saw all the bunnies and flipped. She’s been scampering around the village hugging as many rabbits as she can herd together, talking baby talk to them, and squealing on and on every time she sees more of them.

She’s not bothering anyone, really, just minding her own bunny-hugging business, and I can’t say she’s doing any harm. We tauren generally are on good terms with the dryads, so I don’t think we’re going to have any real trouble with her. It’s just…really weird. So I thought you might want to know what was happening.

–Maur Raincaller, Bloodhoof Village

Huh. Well, Maur, as long as she’s not actually causing any real problems, this might be one that we just let sit. Not to stick you guys with her charming company down there in Bloodhoof Village, but honestly? After last time, I’m not going anywhere near that chick. You should be fine, the holiday’s over now so she’ll probably go home soon enough, just make sure your newbie druids down there don’t try shifting into animal forms while she’s around. And you might want to tell any hunters you’ve got to keep their distance if they have pets. Oh and also, it might be a little inconvenient, I know, but you might want to give your windrider master a day or two off and just close down the flight path. I know from experience the wyverns probably aren’t going to get a lot done while she’s around, and your flight master will probably appreciate being spared the headaches. And possible bosom-clasp bruises.

 

Hey mon,

How come people always be makin’ a big deal about dese death knights? I be pwnin’ dem down here in de Echo Isles ever since dey started seein’ dey trainers here.

–Bob, Echo Isles

Um, okay, first of all, idiot, there ARE no death knight trainers in the Echo Isles. There aren’t any baby death knights running around the junior league training areas like Echo Isles or Razor Hill or whatever. Because – NEWS FLASH, dimwit – all the death knights in the Horde are former Knights of the Ebon Blade, who were turned into death knights by Arthas back in the day, so the ONLY place they can train is in their own damn floaty city out in the Eastern Plaguelands. Which you would KNOW if you didn’t have your head jammed so far up your ass that you don’t have any fucking idea what’s going on AROUND you.

Which brings me to my next point. Dude, what the fuck is up with you? Seriously. Every few weeks I get some letter from you where you’re asking about some shit that absolutely anybody with a brain already knows, and half the time you’ve got something cringe-inducingly WRONG, so like, really, what’s your deal? Did you just get dropped on your head like eight thousand times? Did you, Dontrag, and Utvoch draw straws to see who got how much of the one brain you’ve got between you all, only you wound up with nothing because you lost focus and stuck your straws in your nose and started cracking yourself up making walrus noises? Or did you put on a bear suit for who the fuck knows what reason, then made the bad decision to drop by Hyjal, and next thing you knew that aforementioned prancy head case Mylune ran up and started squeezing you till she literally made you shit your brain right out? Because I’m really trying to figure you out, and I’m not coming up with much of anything other than something like that.

I tell you, I give Vol’jin a lot of crap, but spirits help him if this is the kind of wall-to-wall hired help he’s got to choose from down there.

 

Dear Garrosh,

I’m not quite sure how to begin, or even if you would want to hear from me. I’m sorry that I haven’t tried to contact you until now. I hope that in the end you’ll understand why.

When the red pox tore through our people in Nagrand, you and I were both afflicted, like most of the rest of the Mag’har. It was probably so long ago that you barely even remember it, if you do at all. I remember it well. I remember how sick you became. But I knew you would make it through. Even then, you were strong. You were always so strong.

Eventually the healers of Garadar began to cure our people of the red pox. Bit by bit, our little forgotten village began to recover. My symptoms, though, continued undiminished, no matter what our shamans did. Worse yet, in a few cases, those who had been cured found themselves reinfected after being around me, only this time with symptoms that were far more severe, and resisted all attempts at treatment. Almost without exception, they died.

I, on the other hand, lived on, suffering but alive, as if the pox and I were locked in a stalemate: me too strong to die, the disease too strong to fade. The shamans decided that somehow I had become a carrier for a far more virulent strain of that hateful disease.

In time, Garadar recovered, and I was the only one left, with no end to the pox in sight. More and more, those who came close to me found themselves infected. And more and more quickly, those who fell infected would die.

In time I decided that I could not remain a burden to our people. I exiled myself from the Mag’har, taking up shelter in a small hovel hidden away in the mountains near the Ancestral Grounds. When time and illness finally took me, I thought, at least I would be close to our sacred place. Perhaps the spirits would help guide me to the next life.

I disappeared quietly one night. At my urging, Greatmother Geyah told the village that the pox had finally taken me. In the eyes of Garadar, I had died. Only a handful of the elders knew the truth.

Years passed. The pox carried on unabated. So did I. All the while, I watched from afar as best I could. I watched as the demons’ hold on our once-beautiful world waned. I watched as the Mag’har slowly regathered themselves.  And I watched you, Garrosh. I watched you grow up, strong as you always were, a man before your years, denied the luxury of a childhood. And I watched you live in a self-made purgatory forged of your father’s sins.

It broke my heart.

Years more passed, and you left Draenor to pursue a new life. A better life, I prayed.

Then, not long ago, a group of healers found me in my mountain refuge. I did not know them, and their garments were of a make unfamiliar to me. They were not of the Mag’har, some not even orcs. I do not know how they knew to find me, but they claimed to have new medicines from the world the orcs had taken up as their new home. While they could not offer a cure, they claimed they could contain the pox enough to prevent its spread. Under their treatment, the disease would no longer be airborne, only contagious by contact. A small comfort, but now at least, they said, the pain of the disease need not be compounded by the misery of solitude.

In time, I decided to risk revealing myself. I returned to Garadar, to the welcoming embrace of Greatmother Geyah.

In the days since my return, she has updated me on much that has transpired in my absence. The war, the internment, the demise of Mannoroth and the lifting of the blood haze. But most of all she told me of you. Strong and proud. A hero of a faraway war, fought against the icy talons of death itself. A leader of men, and now, Warchief of our people.

I do not wish anything from you, Garrosh. I have decided to reach out to you now only that you might finally know the truth, and know that I am so very, very proud of you. Do honor to our people and lead them well. As I always have, in this life or the next, I will be watching over you.

Love always, my Garrosh,

–Lakkara, Nagrand

Um…

<blink>

<stare>

…Mom?

 

Of wyverns and pine cones

regrowth

Just dropped by the Sanctuary of Malorne on my way around Mount Hyjal and paid a visit to Hamuul Runetotem, who’s overseeing the reforestation efforts there. I brought a few men with me for the trip, including Mokvar, so, y’know, transcript incoming…

 

GARROSH: Hamuul, I’m glad you’re doing better these days.

HAMUUL: As compared to being burned alive, or as compared to crawling out from under a pile of my friends’ corpses in a mass grave?

GARROSH: Um…yes?

HAMUUL: I’ve been worse.

GARROSH: Uh…yeah.  So while I’m here, I wanted to—

Mylune, an overly energetic dryad, scampers in and starts hugging Mortimer frantically. Mortimer appears generally confused but doesn’t put up much of a fight.

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhhh aren’t you just the cutest thing?! You’re a good wittle wyvern, aren’t you? Yes you are! Yes you are! Ohhhhhhhh you’re so precious!

GARROSH: Um, what’s this?

HAMUUL: That’s Mylune, one of the Guardians. She’s been helping with the recovery up at the Grove of Aessina and here at the Regrowth…

MYLUNE: So furry and handsome and such a good boy! Yes you are! You are! Oh yes you are, Mr. Wyvern…

GARROSH: Is she always like this?

MYLUNE: OOH! Now don’t be like that, Mr. Bitey-Pants, you know Autie Luney just want to wuv you! Like this!

She squeezes her arms around Mortimer extra tight, despite his growing efforts to pull away.

HAMUUL: <long pause> Yes.

GARROSH: Oh.

HAMUUL: Mmhmm.

GARROSH: Well then.

MYLUNE: …with your scruffy-wuffy mane and your handsome coat and – OOH, what big teeth you have, now I told you, Mr. Wyvern…

GARROSH: Look, if you have to drive him bonkers, could you at least just call him by his actual name and not this Mr. Wyvern crap?

MYLUNE: <squeezing Mortimer giddily> Oooooh, what’s his name?

GARROSH: His name is Mortimer, and—

MYLUNE: <holding Mortimer by his face and wiggling it side to side> Oh that’s a funny name, isn’t it Mr. Mortimer? Isn’t it? <nodding Mortimer’s head in her hands> Yes it is! Yes it is!

GARROSH: Can you STOP that? And what the hell’s wrong with his name?

MYLUNE: Ohhh… <eyes go creepily wide> Is he your wyvern, Mr. Warchief?

GARROSH: Yes, why do you—OOF!

In one rapid motion, Mylune releases Mortimer, grabs Garrosh, and clasps him to her bosom, swaying side to side energetically.

MYLUNE: Ohhhh aren’t wyverns just that most wonderful, flappytastical creatures?!

GARROSH: <wriggling around to try to pull away, without much success> THE FUCK is your problem?!

MYLUNE: Such beautiful, wonderful, majestic creatures of the sky! <eyes glistening happily> They’re just so magnificent! And you have one of your very own!

GARROSH: Uh, Mokvar, a little help here?

MOKVAR: Too busy writing, boss.

GARROSH: DAMMIT, MOKVAR!

MYLUNE: <still swaying side to side with Garrosh clasped to her bosom> Oh I wish I had a wyvern friend of my very own! I would hug him and pet him and squeeze him and love him and I would call him George!

GARROSH: The fuck, you’re giving him shit for “Mortimer,” but apparently “George” is—

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh and I would love him so much! You’re so so lucky to have a wyvern friend of your very very own, Mr. Orc!

Mylune keeps Garrosh pressed against her with one arm while grabbing Mortimer again with the other, and pulls the wyvern to her despite its plaintive yelps.

MYLUNE: The very very bestest of furry flappy friends! It’s just so beautiful!

GARROSH: <finally pulls out of her grip> What. THE FUCK. Is your DAMAGE? And will you STOP squeezing him like that, before you squish his head or something? He’s already kind of skittish from getting beaten as it is!

MYLUNE: <stares at Garrosh with eyes welling up with tears> He…he was beaten?

GARROSH: <exasperated sigh> Yeah, he was, and he was stuck on the long haul from Silithus to Winterspring before I—

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhh that poor sweet fuzzy growly thing, you mean he’s a rescue wyvern too?!

GARROSH: I… Well so to speak, now that you mention it there were a couple times in Stonetalon and then in Twilight High—GAH!!!

With a sudden, gleeful squeal, Mylune releases Mortimer and grabs Garrosh with both hands, pulling him to her and planting a big, loud kiss on him before hugging him tightly.

MYLUNEOh thank you, Mr. Orc! Thank for saving the poor dear sweet beautiful wyvern from harm! So so much! Oh it makes me so happy!

GARROSH: <gasping and spitting> THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, LADY?! And why do you taste like fucking pine cones?!

MYLUNE: <keeps rocking back and forth hugging Garrosh against her> Ohhh silly Mr. Orcie! Doesn’t it just make you feel all warm and gooey inside knowing you’ve made a poor innocent animal safe and happy!

GARROSH: <spits again> Seriously, pine cones! Hell, I’m half surprised you don’t taste like fucking maple syrup!

MYLUNE: Why? Did Jaina say something?

GARROSH: Why would…okay, you know what, I’m not even going to. Fuck it. And… <shoves her away forcefully and steps back> STOP. FUCKING. GRABBING PEOPLE. Fucking hell, Hamuul, how do you put up with this shit?

HAMUUL: <long pause> With copious ale and quiet resignation.

GARROSH: And hey, you’re a druid, right?

HAMUUL: There have been rumors to that effect.

GARROSH: Um…okay. So listen, dude, whatever you do, don’t go into one of your animal forms around this chick, you know?

HAMUUL: I know.

GARROSH: Because seriously, if she—

HAMUUL: No. You don’t understand. I know.

GARROSH: …Ah.

HAMUUL: Mmhmm.

MYLUNE: Oh Hamuul, don’t you be all Mr. Grumpyhooves just because you’re an extra super cuddly kitty cat!

GARROSH: Seriously, shouldn’t you be up in Silvermoon pledging a sorority and dotting your I’s with little hearts or something?

MYLUNE: Oh no, silly Mr. Warchief, I never dot my I’s with hearts!

GARROSH: Why do I get the feeling…

MYLUNE: I wouldn’t want the other poor letters to feel like I don’t love them too!

GARROSH: …Yep.

HAMUUL: It’s been…a slow process here.

MYLUNEOhhhhhh look, a woodchuck! Isn’t he the sweetest and pudgiest and woodchuckerest little darling ever?

GARROSH: It’s like if Dontrag and Utvoch had a kid. Made of pink.

HAMUUL: Who?

GARROSH: Count yourself lucky.

MYLUNE: <hugging the woodchuck, who seems none too thrilled about the situation> So furry and cuddly and squirmy and fuzzy and SQUEE!

GARROSH: Hey, listen, Miley or whatever the fuck your name is, did you hear about the fires in Ashenvale?

MYLUNE: What? Fires?

GARROSH: Yeah, there was a huge fire in Ashenvale. All the deer and squirrels and bear cubs and…like…chipmunks with funny hats that you probably have a conniption over, they all fucking BURNED.

MYLUNE: <wide-eyed shock> They…they…

GARROSH: <aside to Runetotem> That oughta shut her up for a while.

HAMUUL: I don’t know if you thought this through.

MYLUNE: The…cute little animals…burned…?

Mylune’s eyes well up with tears, she throws her head back, and she starts to wail despondently. Her near-deafening crying grows louder and higher-pitched, climbing in octaves into a piercing screech. After a few seconds, her voice becomes inaudible, but she continues standing in place, visibly crying. A moment later, wolves begin howling in the distance.

GARROSH: Uh oh.

HAMUUL: As I said.

GARROSH: I…should maybe get going.

HAMUUL: Probably.

GARROSH: Yeah. I think I need to go stab a bunny or something.

HAMUUL: Thanks for making light of things being burned alive, by the way. That was thoughtful.

Awkward.

 

You know, I’m starting to wonder if I should just stop bringing Mokvar places, because seriously, every time I have him with me it seems like some idiotic shit keeps happening.

I still have more work do to here in Hyjal, but I’m in no mood to deal with it after all that bullshit, so I think I’m just going to go check in at Nordrassil and try to do some writing to relax before I get going again. I still have a new EPIC VERSE to finish up (no, I haven’t forgotten) so hopefully I’ll get that up for you guys pretty quick. Stay tuned.

And fucking hell. Seriously.

mylune2

“I don’t know what he was complaining about. He tasted like cheap beer and arrested development.”

 

Monday mailbag

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Before I get to the mail, I just wanted to mention the results are in for this latest round of You Choose the Next EPIC VERSE. I’m working on the latest masterpiece now and I’m going to try to have it posted this week, so stay tuned!

Now for the letters. Just a semi-quick mailbag this week, but a couple doozies…

 

Dear Warchief,

About a month ago A Concerned Citizen wrote in to complain about the mistreatment of a Hippogryph he had received by post. Unfortunately, I don’t think this was an isolated incident — in fact, there may be a serious problem. Last week I received a similar crate in the mail. There were postmarks from at least 20 different places and it must have been in transit for weeks. The crate was emitting a terrible stench, but I braced myself and pryed it open anyway. As I feared, the poor wyvern was long deceased, its corpse in an advanced state of decay. It was the most appalling and enraging thing I have ever had the misfortune to see first hand. I cannot imagine the suffering of that poor creature as it was shunted from one place to another.

I stood stunned for a moment in shock and horror, (and was seriously considering joining DEHTA myself), when suddenly the most amazing thing happened — I felt something nuzzle my hand. I nearly jumped out of my skin! It was then that I realised there WAS something in that crate! A ghostly wyvern stood in the box, so translucent to be nearly invisible. Thing is, despite being incorporeal he can still interact with the physical world to some extent, so he can be petted, confined to a padlock, and even ridden just like a normal wyvern! I’m not sure how this is possible, but I think it might be because the poor beast doesn’t realise he’s dead. (For instance, he still likes me to feed him wyvern chow. He doesn’t actually consume it, but he makes eating motions around it and seems satisfied afterward. To save on gold I found a bunch of kibble-shaped rocks and put those in his dish and he doesn’t seem to have noticed the difference.) It’s taking a while to get used to flying around on a mount that is, for all practical intents and purposes, invisible. However, it sure is fun to watch all the jaws dropping as I fly by!

But the reason I write you, Warchief, is that I don’t think this is an isolated incident. Over the past week I’ve seen other people seemingly flying around without a mount. It’s hard to tell for sure, but I think people all over Azeroth are receiving deceased mounts in the mail. I even think I caught a glimpse of a spectral gryphon flying past me yesterday! I’m not sure what’s going on, but if members of both the Horde and the Alliance are getting dead mounts delivered to them, perhaps there has been a severe breakdown in our postal service worldwide! I know that wyverns have a place in your heart, so I thought you might want to look into this matter and perhaps prevent the further suffering of these noble creatures.

Respectfully yours,

–Kashina.

PS: I’m attaching a photo of my poor deceased wyvern. I hope he shows up well enough on that background.

spectral-wyvern

This…just…wow. I mean I know I was never on particularly good terms with old Antlers McBeardyface, but even for him, this is just…yeah, that’s just sick.

What’s just as bad is that APPARENTLY our old friend Lather-on-us up in DEHTA-land couldn’t be bothered to do anything about this, even after ACC’s original letter last month, but spirits forbid I make a passing reference to browsing in a store for a leather jacket, cause then I get a dozen granola-crunchy druids picketing outside Grommash Hold and starting letter-writing campaigns and throwing buckets of fucking blood at me.

But yeah, enough is enough with this shit. I still can’t figure out how these people got it into their heads that sending mounts in the mail was any kind of good idea, but whatever. It’s time to start cracking down. So for starters, effective immediately, I’m going to start tightening up security in all our wyvern breeding grounds. Overlord Cliffwalker’s been doing a good job clamping down on the Grimtotem up in Stonetalon, so I’ll see about him assigning some more patrols for the wyverns nests there, and I’m pretty sure we can shift some troops over to Highperch in Thousand Needles now that the Twilight’s Hammer isn’t nearly so active down there.

Meanwhile, obviously if we mean business doing something about some brainstorm sending dead wyverns and gryphons C.O.D., I figure we’re going to need a point person to coordinate things. So, consider yourself volunteered, Kashina. I’m appointing you Commissioner of Stop Being a Complete Douche-Tard. Grats. And yes, Antlers, we’re talking to you.

 

Dear Garrosh,

Recently I was doing some errands for the Violet Eye – sweeping ghosts out of the ruins of Karazhan and suchlike – when I killed a big ol’ demon and discovered he had your axe in his pockets. Do you want it back? What’s Prince Malchezaar doing with Gorehowl anyway?

Regards,

–Elder Ciaroscuro (not a Lunar Festival Elder)

Hoo boy. Here we go again.

Yeah, if you could send that back here, Ciaroscuro (and by the way that was a BASTARD to type), that would be great. There’s been some really weird magical bullshit going on with that axe for a while. I’ll try to explain what I can.

So after my father Grom killed Mannoroth, and lost his own life in the process, the explosion that burst out of Mannoroth’s body sent the axe flying and embedded the blade into the nearby rocks. It got flung into the rocks with so much force that even Mr. OMG I’M SO AWESOME LOOK AT ME Thrall apparently couldn’t pull it out, either that or it didn’t even occur to him to look around for it, either then OR when he went back to put up Grom’s memorial, because I can’t think of a third option as to why Thrall would ever FUCKING EVER come back without Grom’s axe.

Some point later, Malchezaar came to Azeroth and turned up in Demon Fall Canyon. None of the other lesser demons there had ever been able to yank to axe out of the rocks, and they generally kept their distance, seeing as having the axe that killed their head honcho right there was probably kind of creepy. But, Malchezaar figured it would be a pretty good trophy for him to pick up for that very reason, and so after some doing he managed to yank it out of the stone. Apparently, by the way, he made a big deal about the fact that he was the one that managed to pull the axe out, and how that was an omen that he was destined for greatness and to be king of the demons and what-have-you, and by the way THAT’S when he started calling himself PRINCE Malchezaar, pretentious fucker.

So anyway, he heads off to Karazhan to take up shop. Only that top level of Karazhan where he hung out was in some weird kind of pocket dimension thingy, like the very top of the tower was poking into someplace called Netherspace, sort of dipping into the Twisted Nether but not quite, or some weird shit like that. I’m not too clear on the nuts and bolts of it. But, point is, it’s this strange little pocket of time and space where…well…time and space don’t quite work the normal way. And that’s where we get into the deal with Gorehowl.

So, Malchezaar had Gorehowl, right? And at some point some Horde adventurers went in there and handed him his ass, and got Gorehowl from his body, and somehow or other it found its way back to Thrall, who gave it to me. So far so good. But every so often, the freaky bizarro zone up there kicks in, and sets off some kind of a time loop. So all of a sudden, Mechazzar is up and kicking again, and he’s got Gorehowl back on him, and what do you know, poof, wherever Gorehowl WAS, it’s not there anymore. Because it got time-loop-reset back up to Prince Fancypants up there in Karazhan.

I once tried to ask Nozdormu how this whole time loopy thing could even be possible, and he rambled on at like 90 miles an hour, and just shrugged and said “wibbly wobbly, timey whimy” and looked at me like I just asked why water was wet. So no help there.

So anyway…yeah. Every so often, the axe goes poof on me, and I end up having to send a group up to Karazhan to get it back again. Which, let me tell you, is a huge pain in the ass. I’m just dreading the day when Malchezaar’s little time loop thingy resets while I’m actually in the MIDDLE of battle somewhere, and have my damn axe vanish on me mid-swing. I have to remember to start bringing a backup, actually.

 

On a completely separate note, I just got my first application for the new Earth Online guild, <Warchief>. Let’s have a look at our new aspiring member…

Character Name:

£õk†årøgâr

Class and Level:

Stock Broker

Talent Spec (please discuss any unusual talent choices):

0/0/41 Execution/Advisory/Discretionary Was execution but fuck that shit u gots no power and kill nothing. vry misleading name, discertionary do it all

What do you enjoy most about your class?

money money money buy the best toys and other class beg 4 help n buffs

Previous guilds and why you left:

Scum of the Earth, guild leader give his girl all the phat lootz n she like cant play so drama killed that one

Something Wicked, kicked from this one dunno why

High Finance, cant take a fkn joke. long story.

Previous raiding experience:

yes

Any time restrictions that might affect your raid availability:

i haveto be in bed by 11

Um…okay.

Actually, no, not okay.

First of all, I’m going to try not to dwell on the crazy letters in his name, but…yeah. Look, dude, you’re really overestimating how hard I’m willing to work to contact you in-game or send you a guild invite. If I can’t just fucking TYPE your name, then the odds of me sending you a whisper or an invite or whatever drops way, way down. I don’t speak alt-code.

Also…um…

You know what, I’m not even going to try to go through point for point and break down the problems with this guy. Not even the retard leet-speak. Reading it once had made my head hurt enough as it is. So I’m just going to make an executive decision and say, oops, sorry, turns out our raids all START at 11:00, so I guess that rules us out. Good luck in your search…um…Guy Whose Asshat Name I’m Not Even Going to Try to Transliterate.

 

Monday mailbag

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Well it looks like we’re finally back to mail that’s just for ME, now that the bottomless pile of Saurfang fan mail is out of the way. So, let’s get right to it…

 

Hail, Warchief!

This is an open letter to the Archdruids Malfurion Stormrage and Lathorius. It involves the former’s recent mistreatment of a Flameward Hippogryph.

I don’t really have a “day job” as such. I do odd jobs for people like the Dragonmaw Clan, the Protectors of Hyjal, and I’m good enough to earn a fairly decent living at it. Lately, that’s involved a fair bit of time on the Molten Front. Archdruid Stormrage recently saw fit to reward my service with a gift of sorts. Anyway, I get home to my Silvermoon pad one day, and there’s a package waiting for me. I said “package”, it was actually more like a crate, with air holes in it. The postmarks read, “Mount Hyjal”, then “Darnassus”, then “Ratchet”, then “Booty Bay”, and finally, “Silvermoon”. Goblin Post, Fourth Rate. It was at this point that I noticed a whimpering coming from inside the crate.

Now, this is going to sound damned odd coming from a man who joined up with the Blood Knights back when the first lesson on the syllabus was “How To Punch A Captive Naaru In The Jumblies”, but…

Stormrage, you sick bastard, WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!? What on Azeroth possessed you to decide that this was a good idea? Surely, you could have sent it Express. Or, you probably know a mage or two. Or, left a note that I could pick him up next time I was over by Nordrassil. But Goblin Post? Fourth Rate? That’s just WRONG.

Then again, I have no idea why I’m surprised. What else would you expect of a man who’d stand by examining his fingernails while forty Horde raiders curb-stomp his wife?

For what it’s worth, Ted’s doing great. (I named him for Tederastrasz, a dragon I met over in Twilight Highlands.) I don’t normally like to ride animals. I usually prefer the throaty roar of a pair of Yoyodyne-Gadgetzan turboprops and the rhythmic thump of a well-balanced rotor shaft. And the occasional autorotative descent into hostile territory? Just part of the spice that makes life worth living. But now I feel obliged to take Ted out for as much fresh air and sunshine as possible, and I have to say, I’m growing fond of his company. He still flinches a bit when he sees a crate, but he’s just about gotten over that.

Anyway, Lathorius? Your shan’do Stormrage could use a stern talking-to.

–A Concerned Citizen

Good to hear from you as always, ACC. Gotta say, that really is pretty sick, not to mention pretty surprising, considering how old Antlers McBeardyface likes to play himself up as like Grand Master Nature Boy Ultra. I mean, listen, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s no secret that I’m not above a little tough love when it comes to Horde mounts, for purposes of promoting discipline and the kind of toughness that the military life calls for. But I can also tell you, in no uncertain terms, every one of our worgs, kodos, wyverns, whatever, gets three squares a day, plenty of water, and at least enough room to stretch its legs and move around some. Not to mention that when they finally come up for retirement, they get an enormous feast before we slice them up into chops.

But yeah, taking an animal like that and shipping it around by slow mail in a crate? That’s just sick. Especially when you consider how much care those goblins DON’T take to observe the “Handle With Care” labels. Dude, you should have SEEN the shape my Champions of the Horde commemorative plates were in by the time they got to me, and those were even shipped THIRD class. I’m still looking for all the pieces of Rexxar. I don’t even want to THINK of what the fourth rate treatment would be.

Hopefully Lather-on-us will get right on this. He’d BETTER, actually, considering how quick he always is to get on my ass for something way less than this. All I’m gonna say is if he lets this thing slide with Antlers, I better not be getting another protest in my front yard the next time I order the veal.

Personally, if it were ME, I’d probably suggest keeping an eye on old Antlers until the next time he goes More Than Meets the Eye into one of his kajillion animal forms, then throw a net on him, shuffle him off into a nice tight crate, then ship him Super Slow Take Your Effing Time rate to his priestess chick. (Bonus points if she’s not able to sign for the package because she’s too busy getting curb-stomped at the time.)

Anyway, ACC, I’m glad you’re having a good time with Ted. Rescue mounts can have their quirks, no question about it, but over time it does get better, once they’ve had time to realize that they’re safe now. And remember, yeah, those roflcopters are cool and all, but a roflcopter can’t love.

By the same token, a roflcopter can’t get explosive diarrhea all over your new monogrammted sheets that your Greatmother sent you for your birthday. But life’s all about trade-offs, right?

 

Warchief Hellscream –

Being that you are easier to contact than your predecessor, I thought this an appropriate time to place my thoughts, as it were, upon your plate. In particular, I wish to discuss your support for our efforts in Silithus.

While I realise that Kalimdor is a large continent and that Silithus is perhaps the most inhospitable and inaccessible area thereon, it remains a hotbed of activity for the Twilight’s Hammer cult. You yourself have seen this most recently, and I have had it impressed upon me that your recent requests for the stepping up of border patrols are vital to your present plans to deal with the Hammer. And so my druids and I will do all that we can, but… we are stretched thin.

In the time since the defeat of C’Thun, the flow of adventurers to this barren land has slowed to a trickle, and yet the Hammer becomes ever heavier, poised above these shifting sands. Why, I recently discovered that visitors to my command have of late been greeted by a representative of the Horde, who offers free magical transportation in order that your supporters might fight in some meaningless skirmish in a swamp on the other side of the world! Why can this service not be provided in order to send more aid to us in our time of need?

The sands of Silithus have seen much, but they are unique in Azeroth and still have much to offer to the brave. With the Cenarion druids largely occupied by certain troubles in Hyjal, I cannot even request aid from them. I am honour-bound to this post, and cannot abandon it. I am told that you value honour deeply. Will you then aid us?

–Commander Mar’alith, Silithus

Hey, Mar’alith, good to hear from you again. Also thanks for your help keeping the Twilight’s Hammer contained recently.

From the looks of it, your letter actually came in right about the same time I went out of commission for a little while, so hopefully in the intervening time things have gotten a little better. From what Saurfang tells me, while he was minding the shop, he came by with a few thousand friends and did a fair bit of Twilight smacking, so hopefully that put a dent in the problem. Still, I know those cultists can be like roaches – no matter how many you kill, there always seems to be tons more of them. (And you know, you wouldn’t really expect there to be THAT many crazy despairing suicidal lunatics ready to sign on to help destroy the world, would you? I mean, even if you assume the cult has a frigging amazing recruiting division, would you really figure they’d be able to drum up thousands upon thousands of these people like they do? Kind of makes you wonder about the world’s collective parenting skills, that we’ve got THAT many people turning out THAT damaged.)

I’ll try to do what I can for you, Mar’alith. As it stands, I put an announcement on all the command boards in Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff encouraging adventurers to head your way and help out, but apparently that hasn’t been having much of an effect. I’ll double check the boards to make sure the notices are visible enough – with my luck, the announcements got covered by someone’s ad for a futon for sale or guitar lessons or something, with the little straggly rip-off pieces at the bottom with the contact info.

Thing is, though, I’m not sure there’s a whole lot we can do to get people to head down to Silithus voluntarily. Sure, there’s the portal transport thing you mentioned, but when you come right down to it, it’s not like getting to Silithus is much more of a nuisance than traveling to Tanaris or Un’goro Crater or, hell, even Felwood. I’m not going to lie to you, Mar’alith, your place down there is just plain creepy. Lots of people get a bad case of the skitters just running a few errands around the Writhing Deep or the Slithering Scar – and Silithus is like one giant Slithering Scar turned up to eleven. People go there and then spend the next two weeks scratching because they keep imagining things crawling on them. Combine that with the fact that, let’s face it, it’s not exactly a treat for the eyes down there either, and come on…how many people do you really think we’re going to get down there rather than, say, walking in a Winterspring wonderland? I mean, hell, by the time most of our adventurers are strong enough to be much help to you down there, they’re usually all fired up to push righ on past Silithus and head out to Thrallmar in Outland. Seriously, have you ever BEEN to Hellfire Peninsula? Do you really understand the magnitude of people basically being like “Yay, Hellfire Peninsula!” rather than sticking around Silithus?

I’m open to ideas, but I’m thinking that pot’s going to have to be WAY sweeter before we see a whole lot of improvement…

 

Hey mon,

Can anybody be explainin’ what “Dranosh” means?

–Bob, Echo Isles

No no no no, dude, you’ve gotta know better than to ask about that shit, all you’re going to do is open up a—

If you will pardon the interruption, Warchief, I believe I can field this inquiry. I suspect our elocutionarily eccentric correspondent is asking about the roots of the name of my dear, departed son.

Oh fuck, here we go. Again.

If you will allow me. Ahem.

We named him Dranosh. It means “Heart of Draenor” in orcish.

Okay, well that answers that question. Thanks for clearing that up, Saurfang, now we can—

I would not let the warlocks take him. My boy would be safe, hidden away by the elders of Garadar.

I made a promise to his mother before she died; that I would cross the Dark Portal alone – whether I lived or died, my son would be safe. Untainted…

Yeah, okay, terrific, that worked out just fantastic for all involved. Hey, hang on a second, how did you even get in here anyway? The fuck is this? You said when you gave the keys back you were just going to head back up to Northrend and not interfere with the goings-on back here with me.

Today, I fulfill that promise.

I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE. But I’m serious, how the hell are you even doing this? SPAZZLE!

Yeah, chief? What’s up?

I’ll TELL you what’s up, tech guy – Saurfang’s in here screwing around with the blog. I thought you had some kind of fucking security on this shit.

Huh, that’s weird. I’m not sure how he’d be able to—

I meant no offense, Warchief. It merely seemed the inquiry lent itself to an account of my own personal experience, and I felt as such it might be a boon to you…

Yes, Garrosh, he was only trying to help.

Hang on, wait a minute, who the fuck is THIS now?

Do you not recognize me, Warchief? You wound me. Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, at your service as always.

SYLVANAS?!

A pleasure to see you again, Dark Lady.

Hold on, you know her now?

And you as well, High Overlord. Congratulations once again on your successful albeit short-lived stewardship of the Horde. I was most gratified that the other Horde leaders were so quick to agree with my suggestion that you would be an ideal interim Warchief.

As I am gratified by the faith you all showed in me, Dark Lady.

Where do you know HER from?

Do you not recall, Warchief? I too served in Northrend during our triumphant campaign against the Lich King. I had occasion to meet Overlord Saurfang in the late stages of our campaign.

Ohhh, that’s right, you WERE up there, weren’t you? See, I forgot about that, seeing as Saurfang and I were spending most of our time on the whole successfully-taking-down-Arthas operation, as opposed to how you were mostly concentrating on the sneak-in-the-side-door-then-run-from-Arthas-like-a-little-girl wing.

Again you wound me, Warchief.

And hold on, how the fuck are YOU in here too?

In the blog? I hacked admin.

You what now?

You what now?

That’s what I said, only less green.

Just as I said. I hacked admin. ^_^

Oh man, hold on, I need to go check the IP’s again…

You hacked your way onto the blog? The fuck?

I’m not sure why you should be so shocked, Warchief. I’ve done this many times before. Not on your blog specifically, of course, but…

Haha, this is awesome.

Oh for FUCK’s sake, who’s THIS now?

What, you don’t recognize me either, filthy orc?

Oh crap, I can tell this is going to mean all kinds of overtime. I was just getting my rotation down on Earth Online, too…

WHO IS THIS?

Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, you brainless half-wit!

OMG WTF

Yeaahhh, this is gonna mean a whole big system overhaul… So much for me trying to save some money on firewalls…

You seriously think I don’t keep an eye on you and your Horde devils?

Fuck you, Varian.

Indeed, Dark Lady!

Stay out of this, witch!

Wait, what? I didn’t say that.

Who did, then?

That was me.

Why was it purple, then? I’m using the purple.

For fuck’s sake, do you not READ the blog?

He’s got a point there.

My text ALWAYS goes purple when I say “Fuck you, Varian.” SEE? It’s like a running thing, I’ve been doing it for months!

But I’m using the purple now. It’s my color. Would it have been so bad not to use purple just this once, for the sake of not confusing people needlessly?

Hold on, are you actually bitching that my choice of text color isn’t showing adequate consideration FOR THE PEOPLE WHO ARE SOMEHOW HACKING THEIR WAY INTO MY BLOG EDITOR?

He’s kind of got you there, too.

Not the editor. I hacked admin. We’ve been over this.

I seriously never get tired of watching you vile creatures fight amongst yourselves.

You would be wise to watch yourself, King Varian.

I would expect at least a little courtesy from you, Saurfang, from one father to another.

I have already addressed this with you, Highness. I will not stand by while the Horde is insulted, however much I may appreciate the kindness you once showed to me over my son.

Dranosh, wasn’t it?

Indeed.

Is that a family name or something?

OH FUCK NOT AGAIN

Not as such. It means “Heart of Draenor” in orcish.

Ask him about the warlocks.

WHOSE FUCKING SIDE ARE YOU ON?!

What about the warlocks?

DAMMIT SYLVANAS!

I would not let the warlocks take him. My boy would be safe, hidden away by the elders of Garadar.

WE’VE ALREADY BEEN THROUGH THIS LIKE EIGHT TIMES

Apologies, Warchief, but…it’s just so easy!

Still not as easy as everybody on the whole fucking internet breaking into my BLOG, though, apparently!

I know, I know, I’m already changing my sign-up status for the alt raid this weekend… <sigh>

Look at it this way, Saurfang: your son died honorably for an honorable cause, far better than most of your kind. At least this way he can be spared a far worse end when your empire of villainy falls to the Alliance.

Also, I like to talk really tough because I think that way no one will suspect what a small penis I have.

Oh and I have trouble getting it up ever since Benedictus bad-touched me in the confessional booth when I was an altar boy.

WHAT THE HELL I DIDN’T SAY THAT

It certainly looks like you did. <guffaw>

I have it on fairly good authority that’s a true story, too.

I DID NOT SAY ANY SUCH THING YOU DEVILS!

Oh did I mention how I couldn’t perform at all until Tiffy-Wiffy took me home and played dress-up for me?

OMG YOU LEAVE TIFFIN OUT OF THIS!!!

<giggle>

Oh hey YOU’RE making him say that?

You are? How, Dark Lady?

Admin. ^_^

SEE? SEE? I’VE ALWAYS SAID YOU HORDE ARE EVIL!

Behind closed doors I like to wear dresses!

DAMN YOU, SYLVANAS! THE HELL WITH YOU ALL, I’M LOGGING OFF!

Hee! ^_^

Okay, you know what, that was totally worth it.

Indeed it was an amusing diversion, albeit immature; but I suppose you young folk need find your pleasures in your own way. And with that, Warchief, I believe I shall take my leave.

From the blog you mysteriously popped into through some means I still don’t know what the fuck they were? Yeah, okay.

A good day to you, Warchief. Honor go with us all.

Gotta admit, much as I’m still pretty pissed that you were able to hack in here so easily like that—

I know, I know, I’m clearing out next week too…

—what you did to Varian there was pretty awesome. You might not be so bad after all, Sylvanas.

Thank you, dear Warchief. While I’m here, incidentally, might we take a moment to review my concerns about the conduct of Captain Bloodfist?

Not right now, Sylvanas. It’s been a long day, okay? We can get into it another time soon.

As you wish, Warchief. In that case, I’ll leave you to your mailbag and return to my work here in the Undercity.

Yeah, you do that, Sylvanas. Luckily, that was the last letter for this week, and it’s probably a good thing too, since I don’t know if I’m in a mood to deal with any more weirdness in one day. So I think it’s time to wrap this up for today. I’ll post again soon, everyone.

Also don’t forget I don’t really have the faintest idea what I’m doing, and the Horde probably would have been better off staying under Saurfang. But at least I’m easily influenced.

~_^

 

Monday mailbag

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Well, I asked for questions, and you all obliged! Let’s have a look at some of this week’s mailbag – actual letters from actual readers!

 

Zug-zug, Warchief!

Me a peon who read your blog. Me like reading words of my great warchief! And now you ask to hear from peons like myself? This what makes warchiefs Garrosh and Thrall great leaders! Me thank you.

You ask for questions from peons. Me have a question me want to ask, but was too scared. Me ask it now though. What happened to your head? When you went to Northrend it look like any other orc head, now it look like your head too small or your jaw too big. Me think you wounded in glorious battle, but never heard story of how.

Also me would like nap break in afternoon but overseer beat me and make work more. Me can has nap break?

–A Tired Peon

First of all, someone remind me to up the Razor Hill education budget next year, before we get another generation of peons grimlocking their way through writing a letter.

Second of all, ATP, the head thing. Yeah, I know. Don’t think I don’t notice the way people stare at me when they drop by Grommash Hold – and for realsies, you’re not fooling anyone, people. Acting like you’re staring in another direction and then glancing over when you think I’m not going to see? Totally not working. So I guess I might as well answer this once and for all.

So I’d like to say this was from some epic battle in Northrend, like me squaring off with Arthas, or even Anub’arak, and maybe having him unleash one of those swarms of locusts on me and they buzzed all over me and crushed my head down or some shit like that. But the truth of the matter is, it wasn’t anything that exciting.

Those of you who were up there in Northrend with me will remember my last operation was at Light’s Hammer just inside the gates of Icecrown Citadel. You might also remember that I spent most of that time hanging out there with Tirion Fordring. Who I’d already had my fill of, by the way, when I went to meet him with Thrall at his stupid-ass tournament place. (Like seriously, isn’t ONE pansy-ass traveling fair enough for the world?) So hopefully you people were all too busy forging your way into the citadel and fighting our enemies like the Horde soldiers that you are…but meanwhile I was stuck back there with Tirion…who pretty much had nothing to do for a good long time but talk. And talk.

On.

And on.

And on.

Like really, do you have ANY idea how blabby he is? The preachiness was bad enough, having to sit there and listen to his EIGHT MILLION AND SEVEN spontaneous sermons to no one in particular about the power of the Light and the need to work together against a common foe, and blah blah blah. But then he started going on for hours on end about his crazy uncle Lucius who used to live down the block from Andorhal, and thought he was King Llane, and caught Deadeye burning down a dwarf settlement in Loch Modan and forced him to retreat by beating him at Parcheesi, until he finally went off the deep end and painted himself blue and spent all his time running around Tirisfal Glades naked chasing bats with a wooden spatula, until the Kirin Tor snapped him up and locked up away in some padded room in Dalaran just to keep him out of trouble for his own good, and now Tirion feels like my day just won’t be complete until he tells me what kind of marmalade he liked to put on his toast in the morning, and I just couldn’t fucking TAKE it anymore.

So I just clamped my hands down over my ears as tight as I could and hummed real loud, and I guess I didn’t know my own strength and got carried away, because the next thing you know I’ve managed to squeeze my own fucking head down a couple helmet sizes. So good job there, me. Fucking Tirion.

Of course I suppose two years of Noggenfogger shampoo didn’t help matters, but that’s a whole other thing.

Speaking of not knowing my own strength…

 

Lok’tar, Warchief Hellscream.

I’m a warrior in the service of the Horde. I do pretty well on the battlefield, but I feel as though I can do much better. Could you tell me how you became so incredibly strong? Do you have a workout regiment, or did you acquire your amazing might through constantly crushing the enemies of the Horde under your boot?

–Revga, Orgrimmar

All of the above, Revga, all of the above. There’s really no substitute for beating the living shit out of real, live foes. For one thing, you never know what they’re going to try next, so it keeps you on your toes. Plus, you can really push yourself if you can find some real grade-A enemies to take on. Here’s where I think I might have an unfair advantage over a lot of guys, since I grew up in Nagrand. While some of the Horde here in Azeroth get started killing boars and wolves and bats, I got to get my exercise fighting hand to hand with giant fucking gronn and whole villages of ogres.

Besides that, I do have a workout routine that works pretty well for me. First thing in the morning I run a hundred laps around Grommash Hold. While I’m going around I get some extra arm exercise in by slapping the fuck out of all the pansy-ass vendors just standing around doing nothing. Especially Ray’ma, because trolls sound extra funny when you slap them around. Then I drop by the meat vendor (once she’s regained consciousness) and pick up eight pounds of roast boar for my breakfast. Gotta maintain your strength, and the protein’s good for muscle, you know.

After that I jog up by the rear gate of Orgrimmar where we keep all the siege engines, find one that looks pretty stable, and bench press it. Nothing too major, just a couple hundred reps. Then I head over to the arena and spar with some of my Kor’kron personal guards for a couple hours. The ones that live get to keep their jobs.

By that point most days it’s around lunch time, so I put Gorehowl away, hop on a wyvern (MAYBE I’LL TAKE MORTIMER THIS TIME, DEHTA BITCHES – THAT’S RIGHT, I FOUND HIM!), and fly down to Un’goro Crater…taking the scenic route up through Hyjal and Felwood then down around Silithus and through Uldum, of course (BECAUSE MORTIMER NEEDS HIS FUCKING EXERCISE TOO). When I get there I find a couple devilsaurs, beat them to death with my bare hands, drag them over to Fire Plume Ridge, and hold them over the lava till they get a good sear. Then it’s lunch time. When I’m done I head over to the eastern cliff face to get some rock climbing in, and scale my way up into Tanaris. From that point I jog over to the shore and usually drop by the Caverns of Time, or as I like to call them, the Caverns of Did I Beat My Best Time. Right now I’m sitting on 34 seconds. BEAT IT IF YOU CAN. If you don’t believe me, just take it up with Anachronos, he’s usually the one holding the stopwatch, even if it’s kind of a funky-looking melty one. Anyway, from there I jog on over to the shore and get in my afternoon swim. Which in my case means I swim from Tanaris right on back up to Durotar.

So I know what you’re thinking at this point: Wait, Garrosh, you just said you had lunch a little while before this, plus it was devilsaur, and we all know how heavy that can be – isn’t it bad for you to go swimming a short time after you’ve eaten? And the answer is yes, yes it is….IF YOU’RE A GODDAMN FUCKING PANSY.

Once I make it back to Orgrimmar, it’s usually time for afternoon tea.

At that point I usually have some Warchief crap I have to take care of, so that’s about it for the workout. As you can tell, being this awesome is a full-time job. You don’t just get a body like mine for nothing. And speaking of taking an interest in my body…

 

Heyyyy mighty Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, you don’t know me I’m your biggest fan EVAH!!!

And I’m an orc, and a gal, so please answer me… what color panties do you prefer in a woman? *hint hint nudge nudge*

Your faithful fan & minion

–Uukra the Hallowed

You know, you’d be surprised how often I get questions like this. Like seriously, if it was ANYTHING like this for Thrall, I don’t know why the hell he would want to get married.)

So, Uukra, to answer you. When you come right down to it, I’m basically a soldier at heart, so I’m going to put this to you in military terms. One word: commando. 😉

I mean, I know that’s how I roll.

Yes, you read that right. Soak up THAT mental image. You’re welcome.

 

Dear Warchief Hellscream,

Since you mentioned Jaina Proudmoore in your post about Thrall’s wedding, and I figure you must be in the know, I just have to ask about those two. You know what I’m talking about. Did Thrall ever, um, you know?

–Grimgore, Orgrimmar

Jaina? Oh, geez, dude, who HASN’T?

Other than Lor’themar. Obvious reasons.

 

That’s it for this week, but keep those letters and questions coming! YOUR WARCHIEF DEMANDS THEM!

 

Monday mailbag

mail5

So let’s see what the mail has for us this week…

 

Hey mon,

Not only is King Mrgl-Mrgl of the Winterfin murlocs a dangerous radical, but I be hearin’ he not even be a native-born Winterfin! And he be rulin’ da Winterfin! Join our movement to demand he be releasin’ his birth records! Demand da trut’, mon!

–Bob, Echo Isles

OMG I KNEW SOMETHING DIDN’T ADD UP ABOUT THAT GUY!!! I remember running into him when I was still stationed out in the Borean Tundra. He was always dropping by asking if we had any soy burgers, whatever the hell that was. I was like, dude, why can’t you just eat fish and stuff like the other murlocs, and he got all huffy and gave me attitude. So I slapped him around a little and send him home. Still, he was just weird, you know? Like with most murlocs you’d be lucky to get anything out of them other than “burglemurgleflurglegurglecrap,” and this fucker’s blabbering on about “indigenous” and “ecosystems” and shit. And fuck, if I have to listen to crap that I don’t know what it means, at least let it be crap that doesn’t make me feel fucking stupid on top of it all.

So, yeah, Bob, I think you might be on to something about the fucker. Where do you figure murlocs keep records like that? Probably some little island somewhere where they’re gonna fucking stonewall us on getting the forms released, just you watch. Fucking murloc spin operation.

 

To Warchief Hellscream:

As your loyal emissaries, to wit, etc., it is our honor to report our arrival as per your instructions in Stonetalon Mountains, Krom’gar Fortress et al. Overlord Krom’gar is pleased to hear of word that notice has been sent of your commandership’s pending visit, we are sure Your Warchiefness will be impressed by the inconceivable might of the forces amassed heretofore as per your indulgency. It is most hoped that Your Hellscreamingestness will pardon the crudeness of our missiving as we are but humble orcs, but Utvoch has been taking an extension course in diplomatic writing so we hope we’ve been able to shape our note into inconceivable due reverentness.

–Sgt. Dontrag and Scout Utvoch, Stonetalon Mountains

Okay, first of all, I don’t think that word means what you think it means, but whatever. Second, I don’t know who’s teaching this class Utvoch is taking, but whoever it is I’m thinking you need to tone it way way way the fuck DOWN, okay? Like seriously. HEAD HURTS. But anyway, I’m glad things are shaping up in Stonetalon. I know the Overlord’s mostly focusing on the Alliance incursion in the area, but make sure we’re also keeping the Grimtotem problems under control down south. The last thing I want to see is those fuckers getting a chance to come up for air.

Fucking geez, though, it took two of them to write that piece of shit? I swear, I know I might not be the biggest genius ever to come out of Garadar or anything, but seriously the internet makes me feel like a fucking brainiac sometimes. Oh wait, fuck, they’re going to see that, where’s that fucking erase button again? SPAZZLE!

 

To Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde:

We at D.E.H.T.A. have received reports indicating that you are indeed waging a most CRUEL and DESPICABLE war – a war waged against the poor, defenseless animals who SUFFER under your regime. In particular, you have committed the following ATROCITIES against Wyverns and Hippogryphs, two NOBLE winged citizens of the air who surely deserve RESPECT and CARE from an earthbound creature (or dare I say, mud-bound creature) such as yourself:

1. You enslave these lofty souls and force them to bear your burdens, ferrying troops and cargo for YOUR benefit, not theirs;

2. These creatures – of an intellect far surpassing your own, I’d wager – are forced to endure long, TEDIOUS hours of flying the same routes over and over again without variation, or sufficient rest;

3. You ENDANGER their lives by strapping explosives to their backs and sending them into battle where they could be INJURED or KILLED;

4. When they grow weary and tire of these exertions you have them BEATEN within an inch of their lives, showing NO compassion or regard for the services they have rendered to you;

5. You then have the AUDACITY to boast about the maltreatment you have inflicted upon those in your care by posting about it on your so-called “blog”;

6. You make JOKES about “crippled” animals, without regard for how such jokes inflict emotional PAIN and SUFFERING on those differently-abled animals who read your insensitive comments.

Your crimes cannot be allowed to continue!

I have discovered the identity of the Wyvern that you had so callously beaten and sentenced to the Winterspring-Silithus flight path! As you read this message, said Wyvern has been liberated! Members of D.E.H.T.A. have secured the Wyvern – hereafter referred to by his NAME, because he has a NAME, which is MORTIMER – and are moving Mortimer to an UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, where Mortimer will be safe from you and your Horde thugs!

In addition, we also have the following DEMANDS:

1. All Wyverns, Bats, Dragonhawks, etc that are currently serving as “taxis” for the Horde must be RELEASED IMMEDIATELY!

2. Any creature currently in service in the Horde’s army or being used as a mount must be IMMEDIATELY DISCHARGED.

3. If any animal wishes to re-enlist in the Horde’s army or apply for a job ferrying persons or goods it must be offered fair wages, sufficient periods of rest, and full medical/dental insurance, as outlined by the Animal Worker’s Union. (The Animal Worker’s Union is a new initiative by D.E.H.T.A.  Details forthcoming, watch your mailbox!)

4. All Horde children will be required to read D.E.H.T.A.’s new pamphlet, “Becoming a Druid: How I can have a fulfilling career while being self-sufficient and able to fly MYSELF around”.

Until you acquiesce to our demands, we will continue to picket your flight points and liberate your “taxis”! (As there are currently six members of D.E.H.T.A. we anticipate that this will be a huge disruption of flight service!)

Best wishes,

–Arch Druid Lathorius, D.E.H.T.A.

Oh crap, here we go.

Look, Lather-on-us, how many times do we have to go through this shit? It’s the same song and dance every time. You dig up some nit-picky complaint about something I’m doing with some animals, wah wah wah, bitch and moan, insert crying like a little girl here, blah blah, skip ahead to me not giving a fuck. Then you start picketing, and then I have some of my mages cast blizzard on your asses, and then you go skittering away because you can’t stand the cold. HEY I HAVE AN IDEA, maybe a fur coat would help with that?  OH FUCK I FORGOT, SNAP!

But hey, you obviously put a lot of time and effort into your “demands” there, even though, you know, you’re not in much of a position to demand anything, seeing as I have about 8000 soldiers on hand here who could beat the snot out of any one of you DEHTA asshats. Hell, never mind the soldiers, I’ve got like fifty personal guards who could smack down any two of you. You know what, fuck that, I’ve got half a dozen food tasters who could mop up the floor with the whole lot of you at once. So yeah, not really shaking in my sabatons over the whole “demand” thing, so how about we call them polite requests.

So since you DID put a lot of time and effort (and WORDS, let’s not forget ALL THE FUCKING WORDS) into your requests, here, let me offer a counter-proposal:

1. All wyverns will be released from flight point duty, ON THE CONDITION that DEHTA members make their flight-form-having asses available to carry my citizens around Horde territories as needed, because guess what, hippies, if you mean business about making life easier for the damn animals YOU CAN PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS ARE. How’s that sound? You and the rest of your crazy-ass druid friends just step on up and make sure our air-taxi needs are covered, and hey, you know what, as long as the six of you can stay on top of all the flight demand, those beloved wyverns of yours don’t have to so much as flap a wing. Hey, you know, come to think of it, I’ll even release them into a bunch of wyvern play ranches, and set those up right along all the flight routes, so you pansies can look down and enjoy the sight off all those happy wyverns that you’re making possible. Bet that’ll make those aching wings of yours a whole lot easier to bear, right?

2. But we can’t leave out the kodos and worgs and raptors, now can we? NO WAY. And I’m sure you guys will be only too happy to provide a happier life for those animals too, and don’t you worry, I’m already on the motherfucker. I’ve got my goblins working RIGHT THIS MINUTE on a whole fucking fleet of bear- and panther-friendly rickshaws. They tell me they should have the first six ready to go within a couple days, so you don’t even have to fucking WAIT to make life easier for all those pack animals. AREN’T YOU FUCKING LUCKY!

3. The Horde will donate an enormous pile of cloth to DEHTA, to be used to make some more suitable gear for your members, since I know you guys can’t wear mail or plate armor like grown-ups, and from what I hear druids normally wear leather, BUT WE ALL KNOW YOU WOULD NEVER WALK AROUND DRAPED IN MURDER, and we can’t have a bunch of naked druids wandering around catching their fucking death of cold, so I guess cloth it is! Armor specialization bonuses be damned! And hey, don’t feel like you’re putting us out at all, quite frankly we’ve had these little up-and-coming wannabe adventurers dropping off mountains of the stuff in every capital city for years now, and after the first couple months nobody’s known what to do with the shit, only no one’s had the heart to tell the little noobs they’re beating a dead horse (FIGURE OF SPEECH, FIGURE OF SPEECH, KEEP YOUR PANTIES ON), and seriously you can only make so many fucking band-aids.

4. To show my support of your fine organization and help finance your noble efforts, I will personally fund and arrange a fundraiser – the first annual DEHTA-benefit all-you-can-eat hippogryph barbeque. You can hold me to this: EVERY LAST COPPER WILL GO STRAIGHT INTO THE COFFERS OF DEHTA – so eat up, bitches, the more tasty marinated hippogryph wings we choke down, the brighter the future of DEHTA. TELL YOUR FRIENDS, THANK ME LATER!

5. Horde children will receive your DEHTA pamphlet, ALONG WITH my own supplementary booklet, “Garrosh’s 12-Step Guide to Keeping the Fucking Sand Out of Your Vagina, Even if You Happen to be a Night Elf.” AVAILABLE NOW ON RANDOM TABLETOPS AND BOOKSHELVES THROUGHOUT AZEROTH!

6. All DEHTA members will receive a formal invitation from the Warchief of the Horde to SUCK IT and STFU.

Are we done?

 

Visiting Zoram’gar

zoramstrand

So just to finish up with the Ashenvale inspection visits, since I didn’t get around to talking about the last part of the trip the last few days.

Oh and by the way, one last thing about Hellscream’s Watch, all things considered I’m pretty happy with how things are going, what with the blowing shit up and night elves on fire and all that, even if we were stuck with a few lazy-ass wyverns who BELIEVE YOU ME will be getting toughened right up (HOW’S THE VIEW OF AHN’QIRAJ FROM ABOVE, STUPID WYVERN?), but okay, really, how is it possible that one of the major obstacles out there is the fucking BEAR PEOPLE? I was talking to Karang and he went on this whole thing about how our advance through the area was being blocked by…the Thistlefur?  Seriously? We’re blowing the fuck out of the centuries-old settlement that the night elves are fortifying and gearing with state-of-the-art armaments…and we’re having to recruit people to go help us deal with the fucking THISTLEFUR? Broyk pointed out how she couldn’t understand how the might of the Horde was being stopped by a bunch of fucking jumbo-sized Ewoks, and I would totally agree if I knew what the fuck an Ewok was.

Anyway, moving on.

Things seem to be coming along pretty well at Zoram’gar Outpost. I’m a little concerned that the construction effort is stalling some – seems like some of the buildings there have been mid-construction for several months now, but I’m not going to complain too much yet, since come to think of it they’ve really been taking their sweet time finishing some of the ramparts here in Orgrimmar too. Damn union work stoppages. This is what happens when you let goblins get involved. Anyway, it’s sure as hell still a major improvement over what we had there before.  Really, a Horde outpost made up of nothing but a couple huts and a campfire? Seriously? What are we, the fucking Orc Scouts?

Commander Grimfang (second cousin to Saurfang, by the way) seems to be running a pretty tight operation, so I’ll be looking forward to seeing how things shape up once construction is done. Hopefully we can get the place up and running as another major port city so we don’t have to rely as much on the goblins over at Ratchet.

Made a short stop over at Silverwind Refuge on the way back to Orgrimmar to meet with Captain Tarkan. Good man, will have to keep him in mind for future operations. Also got to talking with a couple soldiers there, Sergeant Dontrag and Scout Utvoch, who both seemed very eager to start going to town on some Alliance. Since it looks like we’ve got Astranaar pretty well under control, I sent them on ahead to Stonetalon to see if they can help the effort there a bit. Told them to pass word on to Overlord Krom’gar to keep up the good work, and I’ll be by to check in on things when I can.

 

 

[Header image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate, used here with permission and many thanks.]

 

Visiting Ashenvale

astranaar

The inspection visits to Ashenvale have been a mixed bag so far.

On the plus side, we’re bombing the shit out of Astranaar, and watching stuff blow up is always fun. I even got to ride a wyvern and drop a few bombs myself, which let me tell you, was fun as all fuck. I went around three times – BOOM! I wanted to do more, but apparently the fucking wyvern was getting tired, so I had my guards beat it and tell it to quit being a such a pussy. Then I reassigned it to flight point duty and put it on the Winterspring-to-Silithus round trip. THAT SHOULD TOUGHEN IT UP. (Shit, this is going to get the DEHTA fuckers going again, isn’t it?)

I wanted to have them blow something up while I as there and then have Mokvar draw me walking away looking all unimpressed, because you look way cooler when you don’t even bother looking at an explosion, but Mokvar said he couldn’t draw, which was really fucking inconvenient, so I sent him back to Orgrimmar and told him to start milling inks and not leave until he’d gotten trained up. I’m not going to have lackeys riding around with me who can’t be bothered maxing up the necessary skills. LIKE HE HAS ANYTHING MORE IMPORTANT TO DO THESE DAYS.

On the down side, what the FUCK is going on with Splintertree Post? We used to have a pretty secure holding, and now we’re under siege by a bunch of fucking giant orange TREES? The hell?! Dammit, I’m all for advancing the battle onto fronts like Astranaar, but that doesn’t mean you get so preoccupied you let the stupid elves roll up on your original base! Oh and never mind the whole Durak business – yeah, let’s let the demons who nearly destroyed our whole race PLANT ONE OF THEIR OWN RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR OUTPOST. Who the fuck is in charge out there anyway? They always say incompetence starts at the top…

By the way, I never thought I’d say this, but going around in these night elf forests is starting to make me think maybe the blood elves are actually the tough side of the family. I mean, yeah, they’re scrawny and prance around way too much for my liking – trust me, I know, the last thing Thrall did before skipping town was stick me with a whole delegation of them hanging out right in my fucking throne room, and don’t think for one minute that Thrall didn’t laugh his ass off all the way to the Maelstrom over that one – and yeah, the whole sunshiny enchanted woods they have in Eversong isn’t helping matters. But shit, look around this place, and it’s like these night elves felt the need to fucking dip everything in glitter.

I still need to check in at the new fortifications at Zoram’gar, but first I need to make one side trip. More later.

 

 

[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]