Category Archives: General
Brand loyalty
One last quick followup to the whole Pandaren Noodle Festival thing from the other day (where, I’ll have you know, my spicy talbuk noodles went over pretty damn well before D&U-plus-one managed to fall ass-backwards into a new and better form of post-felweed munchie food).
One thing from the festival that I’ve had rattling around in the ol’ noggin ever since then was when Ji was telling us about some Pandaren cooking contest called Iron Chef, and then Mokvar chimed in with the idea of doing our own version called Iron Horde Chef. Among some other possible names he kind of stumbled his way through. Which just goes to show you that Mokvar didn’t have the good sense to recognize the one real winner and latch onto it, which ONCE AGAIN shows you why yours truly is in charge around here.
Anyhow, the point of this isn’t the cooking contest thing, but that idea Mokvar had for a name. Because seriously, how badass does “Iron Horde” sound? IF YOU WERE THINKING “EXTREMELY BADASS, GARROSH,” THEN CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE CORRECT. And so, even though Shayari thought she was being funny with her little comment about rebranding, JOKE’S ON YOU, DOELING, because that’s exactly what I went and looked into. BECAUSE HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT SOUND, SERIOUSLY? Had a talk with Eitrigg this afternoon about how a name change would work in the books. And, hey, let me finish it this way, seeing as I’m still in kind of an EPIC VERSEy kind of mood after that last mailbag…
I took it to my numbers guy and left him really pensive
To wrack his brain and make a try at changes so extensive,
So sweeping, spanning, nationwide, systemic, comprehensive,
That if they ever were applied, the win would be intensive.
I rallied reasons that I scried and argued in defense of
My badass plan, but woe betide: old man’s counteroffensive:
The filing, fees, and forms beside, red tape you can’t make sense of
Reveal the fact, can’t be denied — that shit ain’t inexpensive.
EPIC VERSE!
I mean, you wouldn’t think changing over all the stationery and business cards would cost that much, BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG. And that’s not even figuring in little miss you-know-who’s latest shopping trip.
Dammit, Eitrigg. Guess I better toss a few more Brawler’s Guild invites up on the AH.
More soon.
The sincerest form of flattery
So, I know that when somebody comes up with a real winner of an idea, it’s only a matter of time before some uncreative motherfuckers go all copycat, but come the fuck ON.
So yeah. Like I was saying last time, interest in the Brawler’s Guild has been booming, bidding on those guild invitations is going through the roof, everything’s good. Then, I get up this morning and look over the latest intelligence reports — which, let me tell you, given the apparent state of most of my spies and minions, is a fucking IRONIC term — and what do I have staring me in the face?
The goddamn Alliance went and started THEIR OWN FUCKING BRAWLER’S GUILD.
I mean, for FUCK’S sake, doesn’t ANYBODY come up with ideas of their own anymore? I swear I’d be half tempted to SUE the assholes if, you know, I wasn’t already engaged in a systematic effort to murder them all. But SURE, fuckers, ADD FUEL TO THE FIRE.
Ugh. Serves me right for not taking more steps to lock this idea down. And for doing most of the planning with Boss Bazzelflange over e-mail. Which apparently, Spazzle tells me, somebody on the other side might have managed to intercept or hack or something. That’s pretty frustrating, on the one hand, in the sense that you’d expect Bazzelfuse to have some better e-mail security what with her being a goblin… but it’s also kind of amusing, on the other hand, in the sense that apparently someone over on the Alliance side had managed to dip into the e-mails of the Warchief of the Horde, and which ones did they decide to peek in on? Not the ones with the sensitive military intel, no sir. IF THOSE E-MAILS EXISTED, that is. WHICH THEY DAMN WELL DO NOT AND NEVER DID.
Dammit, I seriously need to start writing down Spazzle’s notes about the delete button.
Anyway, you know what? I might still sue their asses. Cross-faction, sure, but hey, GOBLINS, motherfuckers. Do you have ANY idea how brutal goblin LAWYERS are? Just imagine a bunch of goblins who make the OTHER goblins go “Damn, dude, you’re seriously RUTHLESS.” That’s 100% completely without ruth. They damn well crafted themselves full sets of ruth resistance gear, and THOSE are the suits they wear into court. GOOD LUCK, bitches. Good luck.
On the other hand, that could involve more paperwork. Probably in triplicate. Ugh. Always a trade-off for everything, right?
So, food for thought. More soon.
Get a little action in
So, here’s a little epilogue to the whole Pandaren Noodle Festival deal from a couple days ago, which should help demonstrate that where your Warchief is concerned, the mental elevator’s always going to the top floor. And unlike most elevators, it doesn’t have any careless motherfuckers getting themselves killed running off the edge then going plummet-plummet-scream-eek-splat. Although believe you me, if I COULD push a few people right off that elevator, I would. WITH MY MIND.
Anyhow. While Ji Lunchbox was getting things together for his big ol’ panda nom-nom party, I had a brainstorm for how I could kill two birds with one stone. So, number one, I’d been thinking for a while that I really haven’t been getting as much use as I should out of the Ring of Honor. Sure, a few randoms sometimes use the place for their little bitch-slap peen-measuring skirmishes, but really, ever since I had the newly arrived pandas prove themselves against a handful of assorted monsters (NEVER YOU MIND WHY I JUST SO HAPPENED TO HAVE THEM ON HAND), the place has pretty much been sitting there gathering dust. Number two, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this lately, but teenage daughters are damn expensive, and that expense gets magnified when you’re also trying to finagle an off-the-books black-ops underground HEYYYYYY so that’s the thing, teenage daughters, man, expensive stuff and that’s all I have to say about that.
Luckily, your Warchief is one sharp operator, so I came up with a brainstorm to do something about BOTH these situations at once. Plus — what the hell, let’s call this one number THREE — I was even able to do it in a way that cashed in on all that traffic that the Valley of Honor was getting because of PandaFest. SO CHECK IT OUT, motherfuckers, YOU SIGN UP FOR TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE AND YOU WALK AWAY WITH THREE. THREE GODDAMN DEAD BIRDS. That’s right, I give people a little something extra, ’cause that’s how I roll. Everybody wins. Except maybe the birds. Oh well.
So I know what you’re thinking. No, not “Wow, Garrosh, you sure are awesome, and sexy as all fuck, too” — I mean, sure, you’re thinking it, but I’m talking about the other thing: “So what was your genius idea, Garrosh?” EXCELLENT QUESTION, GLAD YOU ASKED.
Well, I realized that we’ve got this perfectly good gladitorial arena right here in Orgrimmar, only there’s no gladitorial combat keeping it in use. So, I decided it was time to do something about that. You’d be surprised how easy it was — a few conferences with some organizers, a couple hours’ worth of logistics, a not-so-gentle nudge for the contractors who’d already been working on remodeling the arena for way too long already, and lo and behold, the BRAWLER’S GUILD was born! A whole fight-on-demand, invitation-only tournament where the best and the badassest can show off their combat prowess against assorted monsters and, you know, whatever other opponents we can get to volunteer against their will.
Now yes, sure, this setup has some operational costs involved, but they’re a lot less than you might figure — some pocket change and random junk to dole out as prizes, plus maybe a few of those mushan beasties from Pandaria to dangle as prizes for the high-end achievers. But here’s the genius of the whole deal: this guild is set up to make BANK. See, first off, I had them make the Brawler’s Guild an invitation-only tournament. Then, we let a handful of those invitations trickle out to people. So now, word starts to get around about this exclusive tourney, and everybody starts getting curious, and everyone wants in but hardly anyone’s getting invited. So when a few more invitations start becoming available, man oh man, just you watch that gold come pouring in.
So I got all this in motion a few weeks ago. Ji’s whole Noodle Festival thing, though, gave me the perfect occasion to unveil it. We were already going to have crowds of people hanging around the Valley of Honor eating, drinking, and being merry, so what better way to cap the day off than to check out some fucking cage matches, right? We even got to reveal the new name that the Ring of Honor will be sporting in light of the new tournament — the Brawl’gar Arena! Pretty damn badass, right? REBRANDING, BITCHES. (Now I just need to get the ball rolling on that idea I had the other day, because seriously, could “Iron Horde” be a MORE badass-sounding name upgrade for us?)
Now, normally, entry into the Brawl’gar Arena would be exclusive to the guild members, but for the grand opening we let folks into the gallery overlooking the arena floor so they could watch the fun. For a minimal admission fee. So folks flocked on in there fresh off of their noodle festivities, the select few invitees put on a hell of a show, and a good time was had by all. Well, except for the peons who got stuck cleaning up the spilled noodles in the gallery. It turns out that half-drunk people don’t have the best table manners. Go figure.
Anyway, that little taste of the gladitorial goodness, combined with that whole sense of exclusivity surrounding access to membership, were all it took to whip up some serious interest in getting in. So, late into the proceedings, a handful of additional invitations just so happened to turn up at the auction house right outside. Bidding is still going on, but you would not BELIEVE how high the going rates have gotten already. If this keeps up, we might run out of zeroes.
Meanwhile, word keeps getting around, and more people keep digging around for invites, money in hand. So go on, get out there and help the cause — talk it up, tell your friends, remind them what fucking losers they are if they don’t get in on this shit. PEER PRESSURE, motherfucker. REMEMBER — the first rule of Brawler’s Guild is DON’T STOP FUCKING TALKING ABOUT BRAWLER’S GUILD.
Horde Iron Chef (part 1)
So today was kind of a festive day in Orgrimmar. Ever since the pandas came to town, Ji’s been pestering me off and on to let him introduce some of his traditional panda customs. Which struck me as kind of funny, seeing as pretty much any tavern or eatery owner who’s found their stock of food suddenly, totally depleted within like twenty minutes of ol’ Stuffed-With-Fluff waddling in the door has already gotten pretty damn familiar with the only real panda custom I know about. Still, though, Ji keep insisting there were some traditional events in panda custom that he thought would carry over pretty well. I was still kind of on the fence, but then I guess Lunchbox got in Spazzle’s ear about it (not hard to do, really, because LOOK AT THOSE EARS, right?) (HAHA I crack myself up sometimes), and then Spazzle got Boss Mida from the Bilgewater goblins into the loop on it, and then the word “sponsorships” came up, and did I MENTION teenage daughters are fucking expensive?
By the way, if you haven’t gotten your insurance straightened out, you totally should look into it.
Stop looking at me like that, dammit. An orc’s gotta put food on the table. And… apparently… dozens of outfits in the closet. Ugh.
But yeah, NOW we were in business. Like literally.
So the particular tradition in question in this case was this thing called the Pandaren Noodle Festival. Now, anybody who’s been over to Pandaria is probably pretty aware that those pandas love them some noodles. Look over any panda menu and you’re going to find noodles all over the place. And so apparently, in a lot of their villages, once a year they have a big festival where everyone in town whips up their best noodle dishes, usually family recipes or whatever, and everybody samples everybody else’s and sort of spends the day hanging out with music and booze and whatever else. And then everybody puts on like eleven pounds but who the hell even notices because pandas.
Anyhow, though, it sounded like a fun enough time, and with all the crap that’s gone on lately, people could probably use a morale boost, so I let Ji and some of his buddies go ahead and plan a big ol’ outdoor festival down in the Valley of Honor. We cleared out some space and let them set up some tables and kiosks, and I hear tell Deep-Dish has managed to get folks from all over the place to sign on to come contribute some grub. I even got Zaela to send up a few kegs of special dwarven brew that her people collected from some Wildhammer dwarves who apparently stumbled across some sort of mishap where they were caught outside during a storm and were mysteriously chopped up with axes. So, you know, a little more variety for the booze.
It’s been going on for most of the day today, and I have to say it seems like a pretty good time so far. We’ve got people dropping by Orgrimmar from all over to join the party. I’m even going to try to swing by myself once I get one last thing finished up here…
Liadrin, with a young blood elf girl in tow, approaches Mokvar, who’s munching on a bowl of noodles at one of the kiosks.
LIADRIN: Hello, Mokvar. It’s been too long.
MOKVAR: Liadrin! It’s good to see you again.
LIADRIN: I’m glad you’re finally back home. Things are smoothed over with Garrosh?
MOKVAR: They’re…a work in progress. But I’m managing. You’re in town for the festival, I’m guessing?
LIADRIN: After a fashion. I’ve actually been visiting Orgrimmar fairly regularly to help with Shayari since she arrived. When my duties in Silvermoon allow, of course.
MOKVAR: Right, so… I mean… is she really… you know… Garrosh’s daughter?
LIADRIN: That’s what all of Dr. Faranell’s tests indicate. If she’s a fraud, she’s a spectacularly effective one.
MOKVAR: How is Edwin, anyway?
LIADRIN: He’s well, so far as one can tell with him. I believe he’s around here some– Ah! Here she comes.
Shayari enters.
Shayari! A pleasure to see you.
SHAYARI: Hey, Liadrin. Beardy.
MOKVAR: Mokvar.
SHAYARI: Whatever.
LIADRIN: Shay, I’d like to introduce you to someone. Both of you, actually. This is my daughter, Salandria.
MOKVAR: I didn’t know you had children, Liadrin.
LIADRIN: I adopted Salandria some years ago, in the late stages of the Outland campaign. Initially to begin her training as a paladin, though she’s…currently exploring other career options.
SALANDRIA: In other words, she’s letting me take a year off to work on my music.
LIADRIN: <sighs> We all need some time “find” ourselves, I suppose… I’ve changed classes twice myself over the years, so I’m hardly one to criticize.
MOKVAR: Yeah, right there with you.
LIADRIN: At any rate. Being as Salandria is a bit younger than the other paladin trainees, I thought it might be nice for her to have the chance to make some friends from within her peer group, or close to it. Salandria, this is Mokvar, and Shayari.
SHAYARI: <waving> Hey.
SALANDRIA: Hi.
SHAYARI: Oh, hey, cool guitar!
SALANDRIA: Thanks.
MOKVAR: Do you lug that thing around everywhere? It looks pretty heavy.
SALANDRIA: A little, but you never know when inspiration is going to strike!
LIADRIN: As our neighbors in Silvermoon have become painfully aware…
SALANDRIA: Yeah, yeah, I bet they wouldn’t complain if I was playing… like… I don’t know… the harp or something. I bet that placeholder regent guy plays one of those.
LIADRIN: You mean Regent-Lord Theron.
SHALANDRIA: Yeah, that guy.
SHAYARI: You’ll get along well with Pops if you keep taking shots at Whosy-Whatsy like that.
MOKVAR: Is Garrosh around here?
LIADRIN: I haven’t seen him so far.
SHAYARI: I think he said something about coming by.
MOKVAR: Well, if nothing else, he’s not really one to miss a party, so…
SALANDRIA: Oh, hey, sounds like I really would hit it off with ol’ Garry.
LIADRIN and MOKVAR: No.
SHAYARI: Really, seriously, don’t.
SALANDRIA: Huh?
Gurtash and Ruekie enter, holding noodle bowls, and approach the group.
MOKVAR: Do not call him that.
SHAYARI: For real.
GURTASH: Don’t call who what?
SHAYARI: Pops, “Garry.”
RUEKIE: Oh jeepers, no!
GURTASH: No no no no no, don’t do that!
SALANDRIA: Yeesh, why?
SHAYARI: He does not like it when people call him that. For some reason.
MOKVAR: He’s killed for less.
GURTASH: Like, literally.
SALANDRIA: Huh. Okay…
LIADRIN: And hello, Gurtash. I’m happy to see you’re up and well.
GURTASH: Thanks.
SALANDRIA: What happened to him?
SHAYARI: Pip got himself sliced up by a drakonid. Also, hey Pip.
SALANDRIA: Ouch!
GURTASH: Hey.
SHAYARI: I know, right?
GURTASH: She said, as if she was the one getting cut up…
SALANDRIA: Is that how you got your scar?
Gurtash shifts uneasily.
’Cause it looks kinda fresh.
GURTASH: Uh… yeah.
SHAYARI: You know, that could have gotten even more awkward if the answer had been no.
RUEKIE: It’s really not so bad, Gurtash…
GURTASH: Yeah, I guess.
SALANDRIA: It actually looks kinda badass, Pip.
GURTASH: That’s not my name!
SHAYARI: <snickering>
SALANDRIA: Oh. Um…
RUEKIE: He doesn’t like it when people call him that.
SALANDRIA: So it’s kind of like his “Garry”?
SHAYARI: Other than the fact that no on really takes it seriously in his case, sure.
GURTASH: My name is Gurtash.
SHAYARI: He really does get wound up about it when people call him Pip.
GURTASH: You’re the only one that does.
SHAYARI: Okay. When I call him Pip.
SALANDRIA: Why do you call him that, then?
SHAYARI: Because he gets really wound up about it? I just said! He’s a real pip about it. Oh hey, there we go again.
GURTASH: Anyway… I’m Gurtash.
SALANDRIA: Hi. Salandria.
LIADRIN: Gurtash is one of the Warchief’s military trainees. And this is… I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve met your friend, Gurtash.
RUEKIE: My name’s Rue’kara. People call me Ruekie, though.
GURTASH: She’s another trainee like me.
LIADRIN: Ah, I see. I don’t think I’ve met any of Garrosh’s warrior proteges other than you, Gurtash.
GURTASH: Well, we’re not all warriors.
RUEKIE: I’m a shaman.
LIADRIN: Oh. I suppose I’d just assumed, since Garrosh is…well, rather emphatically a warrior himself.
GURTASH: A lot of us are, like– oh, hey, there they are over there — like Korrina and Kulkesh–
Gurtash waves to try to catch their attention across the festival grounds.
Nope. No go, they don’t see me. Anyhow, yeah, a lot of us are warriors, but there are a bunch like Ruekie who aren’t.
RUEKIE: Tuekie’s a rogue.
SHAYARI: Wait, who?
RUEKIE: Tuekie, my twin sister.
GURTASH: She’s a trainee, too.
RUEKIE: She just didn’t come with us to Pandaria, so she’s a little behind.
SHAYARI: Wait, your parents named her Tuekie?
RUEKIE: Well, Tue’kara.
SHAYARI: Right, but… after they named you Rue’kara?
RUEKIE: I think she was first by a couple minutes, actually.
SHAYARI: Okay, fine, concurrently, whatever. You’re missing the point.
RUEKIE: No, I get it. <shrugs> My parents are weird.
SALANDRIA: Right there with you.
LIADRIN: Salandria.
MOKVAR: It DOES seem pretty cruel to give twins names that rhyme.
RUEKIE: I know, I know…
SHAYARI: Sorry, Rue…
GURTASH: But yeah, there’s Tuekie, and Tov’osh. And Giska’s a monk, even.
RUEKIE: I think she’s– oh, yeah, there she is, helping the monk trainer set up.
SHAYARI: Her class trainer’s got her doing odd jobs setting up for a noodle festival?
GURTASH: Looks like it.
MOKVAR: I’m surprised Garrosh doesn’t do something like that with you kids.
GURTASH: <holding up sketch pad> Um, hello?
MOKVAR: Okay, point taken. But I mean, with ALL of you.
RUEKIE: Don’t give him ideas!
SALANDRIA: You mean he doesn’t? Huh, maybe I should look into being a warrior if the rock star thing doesn’t work out, what with the all the chores I was getting socked with as a pally-in-training…
LIADRIN: Don’t you get started about your apprenticeship duties again.
SALANDRIA: I’m just saying, I don’t really see what cleaning up after refugees had to do with perfecting my Crusader Strike!
LIADRIN: It was community service!
SALANDRIA: Suuuuuure…
SHAYARI: All I know is, Eddie’s got another thing coming if he starts trying to get me to do that kind of random crap for him.
SALANDRIA: Who’s Eddie?
SHAYARI: He’s my mage trainer. At least when he’s not preoccupied with making snarky comments about everything.
LIADRIN: Salandria, that’s the Dr. Faranell I’ve mentioned.
SALANDRIA: Oh, the dead guy? He’s that Eddie?
MOKVAR: Edwin.
SALANDRIA: Huh?
MOKVAR: He goes by Edwin. You probably don’t want to try calling him Eddie.
SHAYARI: Why? I always do.
LIADRIN: I’m sure “Dr. Faranell” will suffice.
SHAYARI: That’s so formal, though! I prefer Eddie.
SALANDRIA: Yeesh, you guys really like to call people things they don’t like, don’t you?
MOKVAR: You haven’t even met Garrosh yet…
GURTASH: Well, some of us do, yeah.
SHAYARI: Oh, it’ll grow on you, Pip.
MOKVAR: <to Liadrin> Are you sure you want to get her mixed up in all this?
LIADRIN: Completely sure? Hardly. But, better for her to have some contact with a few peers.
RUEKIE: There aren’t other blood elf kids in Silvermoon?
LIADRIN: There are, but… well, not all of them are necessarily the best influences.
MOKVAR: As opposed to the vast improvement you’re seeing here?
SHAYARI: Hey, we’re pretty damn cool, Beardy.
RUEKIE: Yeah!
GURTASH: Wait for it…
SHAYARI: At least the me part of the we.
RUEKIE: Hey!
GURTASH: Boom.
RUEKIE: Oh… Oh, hey, is that a guitar?
SALANDRIA: Yup!
RUEKIE: Do you play?
SHAYARI: No, she just carries it around to trick people.
RUEKIE: Are you good?
SALANDRIA: I’m getting there! That’s what I want to do. Someday I’m gonna open for the Elite Tauren Chieftains.
LIADRIN: Just so long as you keep your Tauren Chieftains ambitions limited to–
SALANDRIA: And marry Sig Nicious!
LIADRIN: Salandria…
SHAYARI: Okay, well, he is kinda cute.
RUEKIE: Which one is he?
MOKVAR: The kinda-cute one, I guess?
SALANDRIA: My future husband, that’s who!
LIADRIN: Salandria, even setting aside how unlikely it is that you would even meet him, you and I both know he’s much too old for you.
SALANDRIA: He is not!
LIADRIN: He’s in his 230s!
SALANDRIA: So? Didn’t you tell me once that you dated that ranger guy when you were younger?
LIADRIN: What about it?
SALANDRIA: So he was a lot older than you! How come that was okay?
LIADRIN: All right, granted, I was half his age. You, on the other hand, are the square root of his age.
SALANDRIA: Oh come on!
Garrosh enters, carrying a large pot and wearing a chef’s hat and apron. Malkorok, carrying another large pot (and looking none to happy about it) enters with him.
MOKVAR: Um…
SHAYARI: <shaking her head while facepalming> Oh, Light, just take me now…
LIADRIN: Um… hello, Warchief.
MOKVAR: I mean… do we not give you enough crap already?
GURTASH: Uhh…
GARROSH: Why the fuck are you people staring at me like I just sprouted a second head?
SHAYARI: <muttering> Maybe that one would have enough sense not to leave the house looking like that…
LIADRIN: It’s only that that’s a very… colorful outfit, sir.
MOKVAR: That’s one way to put it.
GARROSH: Hey, look, if I’m gonna cook, I might as well look the part, all right?
MOKVAR: And I mean… are those… are those murloc oven mitts?
GARROSH: THEY WERE A HOUSEWARMING GIFT FROM EITRIGG WHEN I MOVED TO ORGRIMMAR, OKAY?
SHAYARI: Oh Light, it just keeps getting worse…
LIADRIN: <squinting> And… am I not seeing your apron correctly, or is that lettering…?
GARROSH: Oh. Yeah. It was originally one of those aprons that say “Kiss the Chef.”
SHAYARI: <meekly> And it just keeps coming…
LIADRIN: And now…?
GARROSH: Well now I’ve gotten it doctored up around the “Chef” part. With a “War” in front and an I squeezed into the middle.
LIADRIN: I see…
MOKVAR: Wait, you actually sat down and sewed that onto the apron?
SHAYARI: Oh spirits, can’t we just let it go away…?
GARROSH: No, you jackass, I didn’t sit down and sew the damn apron. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I hired some tailors to fix it up for me.
SHAYARI: Wait, wait, hang on. This is important. You went to tailors about this?
GARROSH: Yeah, why?
SHAYARI: As in, tailors who run clothing stores kind of tailors?
GARROSH: Yeah, WHY?
SHAYARI: Okay, listen to me very carefully. Where exactly did you go for this?
GARROSH: Why the fuck does it even matter?
SHAYARI: Because I need to know who’s been made aware of this mana bomb of shame.
GARROSH: Huh. Let me think. I don’t even remember the name of the place…
SHAYARI: <pressing eyes closed and crossing fingers> Please say the goblin slums, please say the goblin slums, please say…
GARROSH: It was some place in Silvermoon, though.
SHAYARI: Oh Light…
LIADRIN: Oh dear. Shay, I hate to say this, but I think I might have had an unwitting hand in this…
SHAYARI: What did you do?!
GARROSH: Why the hell are you acting like me getting an apron is the damn apocalypse or something?
SHAYARI: You stay out of this!
GARROSH: Stay out of– I AM “THIS”!
LIADRIN: I was speaking with Garrosh a while back, and he’d asked me to recommend a tailor, so I pointed him toward a place in the Bazaar.
SHAYARI: Oh spirits save me…
LIADRIN: I didn’t know what he was looking for a tailor for specifically.
SHAYARI: Do you realize what you’ve done?! You didn’t stop and think why he might want a tailor?
LIADRIN: Well, to be fair, look at him. The possibilities are endless.
SHAYARI: Oh Light… which place?
GARROSH: Some “trusted” place, I think.
LIADRIN: Keelan’s Trustworthy Tailoring.
SHAYARI: Oh no… No, no, no, no…
GARROSH: They turned it around really quick, gotta say.
LIADRIN: They always do.
GARROSH: Dude did look at me kind of funny when he got the order, though.
SHAYARI: Well, there’s one store I can never show my face in again…
SALANDRIA: Uh, does he always walk around looking like this?
SHAYARI: Oh, yeah, sure, every day Azeroth rotates backwards and the skies turn orange.
SALANDRIA: I’m going to take that as a no.
MOKVAR: Good call.
GARROSH: Look, I don’t care what you people–
Garrosh looks at Mokvar.
Hey, hang on a minute.
He looks Mokvar over again.
So wait, did you go and change up on us AGAIN?
MOKVAR: What do you mean?
GARROSH: I mean, you were a shaman back before you ran off on your damn crazy train mission looking for your crystal doohicky, right?
MOKVAR: Right.
GARROSH: And then you came back and you’d become a warlock again.
RUEKIE: <aside> Ohh, is that what happened with him? Handy recap!
GURTASH: <aside> Ssshhh, I think it’s about to take one of those turns.
MOKVAR: Yeah…?
RUEKIE: <aside> How can you tell?
GURTASH: <aside> I’ve been tagging along for these conversations for a long time now…
GARROSH: Well, look at you. Are you back to being a shaman again now?
MOKVAR: <sighs> No, no…
GARROSH: Because if so, dude, you’ve got some SERIOUS problems with career indecision, let me tell you.
MOKVAR: No, I’m not a shaman again. I’m still a warlock.
GARROSH: So what’s up with the non-warlock-being getup?
MOKVAR: I’m just wearing my other suit! Not everyone has to wear the same thing every day.
SHAYARI: Oh thank Light I’m not the only one who realizes that. There might be hope for you yet, Beardy.
Liadrin leans to look into the pot Garrosh is carrying.
LIADRIN: I take it, sir, that you’ve decided to offer your own… contribution to the festival?
SALANDRIA: You know, that smells pretty good, whatever it is.
MOKVAR: It actually does…
GARROSH: Yeah, I figured what the hell, I might as well get in on it a little.
LIADRIN: Most commendable, sir. What is it, exactly?
GARROSH: I doctored up one of Greatmother’s old recipes and whipped up some spicy talbuk noodles.
LIADRIN: I must admit, sir, I didn’t realize that you cooked.
GARROSH: Garadar chili cook off champion, I’ll have you know.
MOKVAR: Weren’t you actually first runner up?
GARROSH: Not after Grok’nar had that unfortunate incident with the severe head trauma from several large rocks. Which I’m sure they’ll rule was natural causes if they ever find his body.
SHAYARI: I have to admit, he’s actually not a bad cook.
LIADRIN: I see you’re a man of many talents, sir.
GARROSH: You know, it’s funny, you’re not the first blood elf woman to tell me that.
SHAYARI: <cringing> You realize you’re just making my future therapy bills worse…
GARROSH: …this week.
SHAYARI: Welp, there’s two more months right there.
GARROSH: I guess I just need ol’ Lunchbox to get me set up at a station or something.
GURTASH: It looks like he’s getting some more setup done with Giska over there.
RUEKIE: I’ll try to watch for them, sir.
LIADRIN: In the meantime, Garrosh, allow me to introduce my daughter, Salandria. I’m sure, conversely, the Warchief needs no introduction.
GARROSH: Oh, yeah, I remember you mentioning her.
SALANDRIA: Hi, sir. Nice tats.
GARROSH: Huh. Thanks. Traditional Warsong markings.
SALANDRIA: They’re cool. <leaning and looking behind Garrosh> Soooooo, how far down do they go…?
LIADRIN: Salandria, don’t start!
SALANDRIA: I’m just asking!
LIADRIN: You know perfectly well.
SHAYARI: <squeezing eyes closed> Ohhh, spirits, please don’t let this become a thing.
GARROSH: Well, while we’re waiting on Pudge, some of you people might as well dig in for some of the talbuk-noodly goodness.
SALANDRIA: Bah, I still need to get a bowl.
MOKVAR: Here, I’ve got mine.
Mokvar passes a bowl over to Garrosh, who spoons out some noodles.
GARROSH: Yeah, here, try not to get any in your beard for once.
Garrosh holds the bowl out to Mokvar. Before Mokvar can take it, Deliana unstealths and grabs it from Garrosh’s hand.
DELIANA: Thanks! Smells good!
Deliana stealths again and vanishes.
GARROSH: Um.
Garrosh blinks, then turns back to Malkorok.
Seriously, dude, a little fucking SECURITY up in this bitch? Isn’t that kind of your whole fucking JOB?
MALKOROK: Ugh, apologies, Warchief. Although this does illustrate some issues we’ve been… ugh, regardless… <waving to nearby guards, then approaching them> Kor’kron!
GARROSH: Wait, actually…
Garrosh turns back to Mokvar.
How is it, exactly, that your little human friend is SNEAKING INTO ORGRIMMAR?
MOKVAR: Garrosh, you’ve met her. Do you really think I could make her stay away even if I wanted?
GARROSH: Yeah, well, if Malk manages to track her down, you better not hold your breath waiting for her to turn up again. Anyway, in the meantime, you can wait for your helping until she brings back your damn bowl. So… who else is up?
RUEKIE: I’d like to try some, sir!
GARROSH: Yeah, okay. Here.
Garrosh spoons a large portion of noodles into Ruekie’s bowl.
RUEKIE: Oh, wow, sir. You sure know how to give a girl a mouthful!
Everyone stares at Ruekie for a moment.
Oh gosh! I didn’t– I mean– I– I’m gonna stop talking now.
MOKVAR: At least you’ve got noodles.
Deliana unstealths and drops an empty bowl into Mokvar’s hands.
DELIANA: Here you go! Good stuff!
Deliana stealths again and vanishes.
GARROSH: <bellowing over at Malkorok> UH, MALK, ANYTIME YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE WANNA GET YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR ASSES WOULD BE TERRIFIC!
SALANDRIA: Is this what it’s usually like with you guys?
SHAYARI: You have no idea.
{As it turns out, the Pandaren Noodle Festival brought far more absurdity than I could hope to pack into one post, so our Orgrimmar block party will continue soon, with appearances from even more of our supporting cast. TO BE CONTINUED soon — stay tuned…}
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.
Leave the dinomancy to the dinomancers
So, I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but I’m really starting to think, oh, I don’t know, I might possibly need some BETTER FUCKING MINIONS. Have I already talked about this?
WELL HERE’S THE LATEST FUCKING CHAPTER.
I just got a report from General Nazgrim in Pandaria. Delivered straight from Pandaria by the general’s personal courier, Quirox the Illiterate. Yes, you read that right. Yes, that’s his nickname. No, I’m not joking. And yes, it’s accurate. And as ridiculous as that sounds, it actually has some merit to it. Think about it — an illiterate courier means you can send highly classified, top secret documents without there being ANY chance of prying eyes peeking in transit. Also, this might or might not tell us anything, but later on in the day, guess who I noticed ol’ Quirox hanging out with? Here’s a hint: the letters D and U are involved. Birds of a braindead feather, I tell you.
Anyway, Nazgrim’s report. And if you’ve been reading the blog for any length of time, you probably already have a sense of what tends to happen when I delegate to people and then have them report back to me later. For those of you who are new to the party, what tends to happen is NOTHING WHATSOEVER THAT IS GOOD FOR MY FUCKING BLOOD PRESSURE. Case in point: A little while back, I gave Nazgrim orders to send some people up to this Isle of Giants place off the coast of Pandaria and see what the dinosaur situation was. Because if the fucking Zandalari could sweet-talk some of the dinosaurs into being mounts and minions for them, we sure as well should try to get in on the ground floor there, because DINOSAURS, HOT DAMN.
Now, Nazgrim’s original assignment was to send a scouting detail to size things up. Which he did, with a small team headed by Marksman Shokia and Shademaster Kiryn. They zipped on up to the Isle of Giants, surveyed the area, gathered info on the denizens. No sign of the Zandas, other than an abandoned ship off the coast. Still loads of dinosaurs all over the place, ready for the taking. So far, so good. Awesome.
Then, for some reason I DON’T KNOW WHY, Nazgrim decided to get creative and go off the script.
This is the part where the long-time readers among you probably starting getting a Bad Feeling About This.
Because…yeah.
So, you might remember a few mailbags ago, Grottee Metalbeard sent along a peace offering to make up for his HOLY FUCKING SHIT “How to Out-Tirion Tirion” letter, in the form of a Zandalari Tome of Dinomancy that he’d gotten hold of. (I’ll forgive you if you’d missed that detail, since by that point a lot of you were probably like “Oh shit, another Grottee letter, it’s skim time, somebody tell me when it’s safe to come out.”) (Then the universe unleashed Sarlin on us all. Well played, universe. You win again.) My plan was to bring it with me when I head back to Pandaria, along with a team of Kor’kron beastmasters, and have them see if they could make use of it to tame us some new badass military monsters.
Somehow or other, though, Nazgrim got his hands on one of those tomes himself, and decided it was a good idea to take matters into his own hands and have some of his people try to use it themselves, even though the people HE had on hand weren’t Kor’kron beastmasters. They were, in fact, neither Kor’kron NOR beastmasters. Nor competent. Nor in possession, apparently, of an ounce of fucking SENSE, but hey, since when is THAT news when it comes to somebody I have on my payroll not named fucking ME?
So Nazgrim toddled on up to the Isle of Giants with… I don’t know, WHOEVER the fuck he thought would be good to try this with. Some non-Kor’kron non-beastmaster dude. I don’t even think he was a hunter, because, yeah, THAT’S another good idea when you’re trying to tame something. I don’t even know WHAT he was. Just some guy, apparently. Probably named Steve or some shit. ANYWAY. They flew over there, and Nazgrim had one of his people, Generic Red Shirt Moron Steve, try his luck with the Tome of Dinomancy. Oh but also, to add to the shit-tacular brilliance of this plan, they didn’t bother trying things out on any of the smaller, weaker dinosaurs, just to get a feel for the process, because that would just make too much damn SENSE, right? Oh no, old Steve went straight for the big noise — he went right on up to this giant freaking devilsaur that the locals called Oondasta. And, you know, when a dinosaur gets a fucking NAME, you know it’s no joke, right? As if to say, oh, those plain ol’ regular dinosaurs? Pfft, who cares about those? They’re just FUCKING DINOSAURS. But THIS one here? HOO BOY, THIS is the one you have to pay attention to.
So ol’ fucking worthless shithead Steve — who I literally know nothing about other than his existence (and by the way, stay tuned even on THAT front), but who I’m still going to make sweeping dismissive comments about because FUCK THAT IDIOT — he rolled up on Oondasta like he owned the place, and started trying whatever dino-mojo the Tome of Dinomancy had in it. And Oondasta picked up on the dinomancy vibe and came stomping on over, and walked right up to fuckhead Steve, and you know what happened next? THE FUCKING DEVILSAUR LEANED RIGHT DOWN AND SWALLOWED STEVE IN ONE BITE, COMPLETE WITH THE FUCKING TOME, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.
By the way, let me tell you, Nazgrim’s attempt to give an account of that in his report, without making it sound like the total fucking disaster that it was? I don’t know if it was hilarious or fucking sad. It’s a damn good thing he’s a decent field officer, though, because his non-combat decisionmaking? Eesh.
Anyway, though, I would say we’re back to the drawing board, except we really aren’t any worse off than we were before Nazgrim had his little brainstorm. We still have a useful scouting report on the Isle of Giants, and we still have MY Tome of Dinomancy, because unlike some OTHER people I could mention (I’m looking right at YOU, Steve — or I WOULD, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re probably getting ready to get shat out by Oondasta even as we speak), I have enough sense not to go running off unprepared to do some stupid shit. I MAKE SURE I’M PREPARED FOR THE STUPID SHIT I DO, GODDAMMIT.
We’ll just have to pick this up once I get back down there, tome and beastmasters in tow. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that nobody manages to shit the bed on this operation any more than they already have.
More soon.
A day in the life
So, the last few mailbags have gotten me thinking. I’ve been getting a bunch of questions about pretty regular day-to-day things in my life — nuts and bolts about what I do and why. Just another part of being a celebrity, I guess, and a pretty damn awesome one at that. Point is, with all the crazy crap that goes on around here, I think I might have gotten so busy keeping everyone updated on the BIG NEWSY stuff that I haven’t bothered talking about anything else. Which, you know, was kind of the POINT of writing the damn blog in the first place. You know. THOUGHTS AND MUSINGS AND SHIT.
Well, maybe not shit. Not literally. Because gross.
Point is, though, I’m going to try to be a little better about posting on the NON-BIG-GIANT-WORLD-ALTERING stuff that’s going on or that I have in mind or whatever. So, for those of you interested in more of an inside look at what it’s like to be me (short version: way better than it is to be you), here, have a peek into a sample of a day in the life of everyone’s favorite Warchief.
(That would be ME, you UNGRATEFUL SMARTASSES out there.)
8:09 AM – Woke up. Rolled out of bed. Pulled razor across my head. (I try to be diligent about shaving. Wouldn’t be a big deal if I only had some stubble on my FACE — the tattoos would make it hard to see anyway — but if it starts getting visible on top, you start seeing what a bad draw I got as far as middle-aged hairlines go. I’ll tell you, my mother’s side of the family must have had some fucking awful hair, because I sure as hell didn’t get mine from Grom.)
8:16 AM – Morning jog around Grommash Hold. Worked up good sweat but noticed several vendors conspicuously absent. Unable to amuse self by slapping them on the way by. Possibly vendors getting wise. Two years later. Never said they were sharpest tools. Disappointing nonetheless. Post-slap reactions always good for chuckle. Especially troll.
8:43 AM – Bacon. Also: more bacon.
8:51 AM – Kafa. Really not bad at all. Maybe should have listened to Ruekie about Starbulls earlier. Remember to check with her about other blends later. Potential application of haste buff stacking with Recklessness.
9:00 AM – Budget review meeting with Eitrigg. Gramps raised some concerns about an increase in the “Warchief discretionary spending” category. Don’t even get me started.
10:00 AM – Staff meeting with Malkorok, Overlord Runthak, and Overseer Elaglo. Updates on a number of projects, plus a few security oddities from Malk. Mokvar working with Xorenth today, so Taktani recording notes. Malkorok less than pleased. Can’t really blame him. Some sensitive topics, so not publishing transcript.
11:32 AM – On way out after meeting, had to suffer through, and minimize, small talk with Dontrag. Or Utvoch. Not sure. Apparently waiting for Tak after meeting. Luckily escaped when she came out.
11:36 AM – Note to self: Check on which one of D&U is which.
11:37 AM – Followup note to self: Don’t really give shit which is which. Disregard previous.
11:45 AM – Shayari gets back from morning of mage training with Faranell in Undercity. As per recommendation, Doc showed her Ice Block today. Apparently never bothered picking it up because she’s a fire mage. Dalaran, Shmalaran. Don’t know what those fuckers were teaching her.
Shay also delivered (another) invoice from Faranell for his jaw replacement. Can’t possibly really be that expensive. Also not crazy about Materials; “headhunting” and acquisition line item. Bad feeling about this.
12:20 PM – Lunch at Broken Tusk. Pretty good special, “Agamaggan’s pulled pork.” Needs bacon, though. Then again, what doesn’t?
12:36 PM – While eating, interrupted by Dontrag. Or Utvoch. Not sure. Not the one from earlier. Other one. Yammered on about something. Difficult to follow as I wasn’t listening. Can only assume that sounds of me eating sounded to him like “Tell me about your life.” Really crossed the line, though, when he started going on and on about wanting to set up a double date for him and the other one.* Thought of those two on dates led to prospect of them breeding. Lost appetite at that point and left. See, proves my point about bacon. Would have still been worth it in that case.
* Not with me. Double date for them and two someones (sometwos?) else. Not me. Even bacon couldn’t have salvaged that shit if so.
1:30 PM – Combat drills with trainees. Focus today on defensive maneuvers, parrying, mitigation skills. Overall decent performance. Korrina still a little reckless. Rook possibly a little too quick to hit “oh shit” buttons, but growing more adept at self-heals. Bodes well for group use, maybe occasional off-healing. Giska doing well with unarmed combat, blocking especially, skill less successful while using a weapon. Possibly check with Lunchbox on this. Tuekie, Zorekk coming along well, performance gap remains but growing less conspicuous. Mirembe and Tov’osh still on training maneuvers in Northrend.
3:00 PM – Extra melee practice with Gurtash. Trying to ease him back in but he’s still a little slow to pick things back up. Very hesitant. Hit accuracy seems uncompromised by injury, so that’s good. Kept to short session today. Don’t want to discourage him but combat skills need to take major step forward if he’s to perform honorably. And survive. More side sessions to follow.
4:00 PM – Hop onto Earth Online. Not going to bother logging guild chat — only getting on for a few minutes to check auctions and knock out a few dailies, then I’ll be logging off.
6:11 PM – Finally logged off of Earth Online. Man. Game really goes have a way of sucking you in and burning the day. Didn’t even really do anything especially fun. Didn’t even really do much of ANYTHING. Two hours gone anyway. How the hell does Genesis do it? Check on this — could have potential mind control / military applications. Make mental note for next meeting with Blackfuse and/or Draz’Zilb. And of course, Shay had to pop in and snarky comments about nerdy gaming. Again.
6:20 PM – Tried to take Shay to this new barbecue place over in the Drag for dinner. When we arrived, found Dontrag and Utvoch there.
Positive: Both there, so no need to worry about who’s who.
Negative: Both there.
Double negative: Don’t CARE who’s who, which cancels out positive above. (Math nerds: Yes, in this case double negative cancels the positive and not the negatives. Don’t get panties in a bunch. Also: HEAD HURTS.)
Triple negative: They were chatty.
6:22 PM – Got the fuck out of there and headed home. I’ll send for takeout, dammit. Fuck that noise. (Literal noise.)
6:27 PM – Passed by Kodohide Leatherworkers on way home. Had to drag Shay away to avoid shopping spree. She stuck head in doorway, entire staff greeted her by name. Fuck me.
7:21 PM – Shay tries to conjure lemon squares for dessert. Not something that usually promises much success but she decides she wants to try it anyway. Goes about as well as you might expect.
7:34 PM – Leave note for repair crew to come by tomorrow to take care of damage to kitchen. Not looking forward to bill. Also make mental note to talk to Faranell about the lemon square thing or failure thereof. What the hell am I paying for. Remember this next time he tries griping about the bill for his damn jaw.
Training wheels
So now that Gurtash is up and about again — mostly — I can finally stop worrying about WHETHER he’s waking up, and get back to a few pieces of business involving him that have been on the shelf for a while now. Side note, by the way — I don’t know who was more relieved when the kid finally came around, me or the healers I had working on him. I might possibly have said something that left them with the impression that if Gurtash didn’t recover, they might be staring down the barrel of a “physician, heal thyself” type of situation, promptly followed by a “dead man, bury thyself” type of situation.
Anyhow, moot point, now that the kid is awake and mostly mended. The healers tell me he’s going to need a little more recovery time, but that doesn’t have to stop me from doing some planning for his training regimen going forward. Because obviously, the fact that he wound up where he was means I haven’t been doing a good enough job whipping him into shape with the warrioring. Which is kind of strange, seeing as I was giving him combat pointers, off and on, before the trainee program even started, and yet, somehow, he’s ended up being less advanced than a bunch of the other kids. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he’s got no skills whatsoever — he’s got some pretty good aim when it comes to precision strikes, which lots of people struggle with early on, and he moves around well in combat. Generally. When he’s not, you know, getting blindsided by spectral spook dudes. But, speaking of that, he also has all kinds of problems keeping his guard up, and…well, a bunch of issues.
Meanwhile, we have other trainees in his unit who’ve come a lot further a lot faster. I’m not even going to count Korrina, because hell, she comes from the fucking Saurfang family tree, and let’s face it, good luck to the first lumberjack who to get any bright ideas about THAT tree, because the tree would take one chop the lumberjack and then cleave his fucking head clean OFF. With a branch. Which would also somehow be an axe.
So, yeah, not even counting Korrina. But then you’ve got kids like Kulkesh, who’s been shaping up really well with the dual wielding — which served me pretty damn well back in the day before I had Gorehowl passed to me — and even Mirembe, who’s been bouncing around on training assignments since she wasn’t able to come to Pandaria, and seems to embracing the whole shield-slam-tanky thing. Or even someone like Giska, who isn’t even a warrior but has some pretty good moves from her whole Kung-Fu-Panda monk business, and by the way I seriously need to get her to show me how to do that crazy knock-you-out-cold neck pinch thing.
Anyway, point being, I need to come up with something to do with the kid to get him caught up, so this stuff doesn’t keep happening. I might try talking to Lantresor while I’m at it, see if he’s got any suggestions for alternate training methods. He’s pretty seriously badass in his own right and he must have had to train a few apprentice blademasters in his day, so we’ll have to see.
But, there’s still time to worry about calling in Lantresor. I can start easing him back into training by myself the next few days, then go from there. For the time being, it’s just as well for me to lay off and let Gurtash get himself recovered. In the meantime, we were finally able to get around to one other bit of business that was on the shelf for too long.
Some of you might remember that a few weeks ago, one of our kennel masters here in Orgrimmar, Ogunaro Wolfrunner, wrote in to my mailbag and offered one of the wolves he’d been raising — a young worg named Grimjaw — to serve in the Kor’kron mounted forces. He’s a fine wolf. Strong and agile like Ogunaro promised. Still a little on the small side, but then he IS still pretty young, with some more growing to do. But that just puts him that much further ahead of the game.
I brought Gurtash down to the Kor’kron stables earlier today. What with the good job he’s done helping take care of Mortimer the last year or so, I told him, it made sense for him to have a mount of his own to take care of. He was going to be coming up on his riding training soon anyway, so I figured he might as well start right off with the worg he’d be riding for a while. A young one, barely past being a pup — not unlike the kid himself — that could grow with him. Hopefully for a good long while. Well, for however long worgs live, anyway.
I’d planned to give Grimjaw to Gurtash ever since Ogunaro offered him. Obviously, that plan ended up having a big monkey wrench thrown into it for a while, what with Gurtash’s whole fiasco up in Blackrock Spire. As it turns out, though, having the kid out of commission for a couple weeks might have been a blessing in disguise. The one thing I’d been concerned about with Gimjaw was whether he would take to Gurtash. Worgs are pretty strong-willed by nature, and even as a young one, Grimjaw was pretty strong and formidable. And seeing as Gurtash wasn’t exactly an experienced rider yet, it made sense to be a little wary about what would happen if Grimjaw was standoffish and Gurtash maybe tried to force himself on the wolf too much too soon. While Gurtash was out cold, though, I took the opportunity to try to stack the deck for him. After the first few days the kid was resting, I had the healers swap out one of his blankets. I took it over to the stables, and used it to line the bedding in Grimjaw’s stall. Every few days after that, when they changed Gurtash’s sheets, I did the same. Kept a fresh-ish blanket with Grimjaw. Let him pick up the kid’s scent.
It ended up paying off. When I brought Gurtash over to the stables, Grimjaw was napping on his pile of furs and blankets. When he woke up, he made his way over to Gurtash and started sniffing at him. He warmed right up to the kid and kept hovering around near him the whole time we were there. Well, the whole time I was there. After a little while, I needed to go to get to a meeting with Overlord Runthak. At that point, I was going to take Gurtash back over to the Valley of Wisdom to drop him off… only he was too busy playing around with Grimjaw to notice me trying to get his attention. So I figured I’d let him hang out there while I went to my meeting. It was a secure building, after all, with Kor’kron all over the place, so it’s not like he wouldn’t be safe enough by himself.
I was gone for a couple of hours. When I went back to pick him up, he was still at it with the wolf. This time they were running around together in the fenced-in pen they have out back, chasing each other in circles. Gurtash had managed to grab a pigskin somewhere, and every so often he’d toss it across the pen and let Grimjaw take off after it. He didn’t even notice I’d come back at first, so I just hung back and watched them for a little while.
When I finally rounded him up to head back to the Valley of Wisdom, he spent the whole walk over asking me about coming back to the stables tomorrow, and when he can get started on his riding training. Even when I tried to go over the plan for his return to combat training, the kid kept dragging it back to riding instead. Guess I can’t blame him. I dropped him off and checked in with the healers, then tried stopping by the orphanage to see about some other leftover business. Matron Battlewail wasn’t around, though, so I guess I’ll have to try again some other time.
Pretty good day overall, I gotta say. Pretty good.
More soon.
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Everyone has a price
Well, I just got back from Azshara. Operation Blackfuse is a go.
I went up this morning, just me and Malkorok. I wanted to keep this pretty hush-hush, and have a minimal number of people involved. Mokvar was definitely out, what with him being busy working on Neeru Firelade these days, and besides, I don’t know if this was exactly a meeting I would want an official record of.
On the other hand… we ARE talking about cutting a deal with a goblin. And an extra fast-talking one at that. And considering how shifty goblins can get about their fine print sometimes…
OH DAMMIT. I swear to fuck, one of these days I’m going to stop biting myself in the damn ass.
ANYWAY.
I headed up to Bilgewater Harbor with Malkorok in tow — he insisted on coming with me for security purposes, just in case I needed some backup. Of course, that brilliant plan of his kind of went up in smoke once we actually GOT there, and placed Blackfuse’s super-secret retarded-ass lunch order, and Blackfuse’s flunky Fizz Lighter turned up to teleport us over. The going-up-in-smoke taking the form of said flunky porting ME into Blackfuse’s lair, but not Malk. Which, you know, kind of defeated the point of me bringing a fucking bodyguard. I tell you, he really does get the job most of the time, but sometimes I wonder about that guy. Not the sharpest tool in the shed.
Evidently, though, that’s standard operating procedure for Blackfuse — only letting the crucial people port over to his place and not just giving a blanket invitation to any guests they might have brought with them. Which I guess I can understand, seeing as if you’re running a secret underground operation, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to let somebody come parading into your pad with a bunch of armed guards. Not good for security, and for that matter, it doesn’t necessarily leave you a very good negotiating position when you and your handful of goons are outnumbered. Still annoying from my vantage point, mind you, but I get it.
Anyhow, Blackfuse had himself one damn impressive underground lair. All kinds of gadgets and gizmos all over the place, and this crazy souped-up trike, and also some gigantic copper piece sitting out on display for decoration, although I’m still not sure what was up with that. OH but seriously, dude, you would not BELIEVE the gaming rig that guy has. Gigantic high-res display, stereo speakers, one of those snazzy gaming keyboards, all set up around this fucking AWESOME recliner. I hopped onto Earth Online for a few minutes while I was there, because I just HAD to see how it looked on that screen of his, and DAMN. And did I mention the chair? Crazy comfy with buttons and shit built into the armrests to control some of his gadgets. Seriously, I could fucking LIVE here. Which I guess is kind of the point, seeing as Blackfuse DOES pretty much live there. Still, I’ve definitely got to work on my own man-cave after seeing that shit. Or Warchief-cave. Something like that. I’ll come up with a suitable name for it later.
Anyway, Blackfuse was already getting on my good side with the snazzy toys and shit, and once we had a chance to go over more practical military projects, dude didn’t disappoint. I brought a pack with me with a bunch of schematics of the equipment we’re working with right now, and Blackfuse was full of ideas for how we could soup it up or move to a whole new-and-improved wave of tech. I’m not going to go into detail here for security reasons, plus why spoil all the surprises that everyone gets to look forward to? I seriously can’t wait to see the look on Nazgrim’s face when he sees some of this shit he’s going to get to play with.
So, the up side: yeah, I think we’re in business. Now for the down side. HOLY FUCKING SHIT that guy doesn’t work for cheap. I mean, I get it, he’s a goblin, and a businessman, and he’s looking to make money, that’s all cool, but FUCKING HELL, dude, I’ve BEEN to an auction house before, I KNOW there’s not that much of a markup on seaformium!
So evidently, Blackfuse thought it was a cool idea to try to price-gouge me, and don’t get me wrong, I was totally ready to pay the guy, but COME THE FUCK ON. Luckily, I came prepared with a counteroffer he couldn’t rightly refuse. Remember that pack I mentioned bringing, with the schematics and shit? Well, I also took the precaution of packing a bunch of shaman recall totems to take with me.
For those of you not in the know, recall totems are these totems that shaman bind part of their spirit to, so that they can basically summon themselves to the totem later. Usually, shaman attune themselves to a totem that they set up in their home so they can pop on back there, but figured it might be handy to bring a few along. So that, at a pre-set time, if they hadn’t received word otherwise, Overseer Elaglo and Xorenth and a couple of their acolytes could use their attunements to those totems to POOF themselves right on over, right next to me.
Oh, and hey, while they were at it, they might as well all pack a few totems each, too, so some MORE of their shaman friends could pop on over and we could have a roarin’ ol’ shaman party while we were at it. And so between the couple dozen shaman we suddenly had in attendance, and the bunch of flame hounds they summoned to come join us — because who doesn’t like to bring their dog along for a fun time, am I right? — well, go figure, all of a sudden Blackfuse’s asking price started coming way the fuck DOWN.
See? Who says I’m not a good contract negotiator? You just have to know how to talk to people.
We’ve got a plan in place now, and Blackfuse is going to come to Orgrimmar in a few weeks to go over logistics. Barring something stupid happening — which I know you never can assume around these parts, unfortunately — we should be good to go.
More soon.
The cost of doing business
So, some of you might remember the other day when Lantresor of the Blade wrote to me saying – among other things – that he was coming up to Orgrimmar to see about signing on with the Horde. Seemed like a pretty good deal, what with Lantresor being a major badass by all accounts, plus him being pretty much the head honcho of a clan of ogres. Which, yeah, maybe not the deepest thinkers in the world, but for real, have you seen some of the hired help I’ve already got on staff? I have Dontrag and Utvoch on payroll. I’ve got no business throwing stones.
Anyhow, I got Marogg the infantry chef to whip up a welcoming dinner for Lantresor and his crew, but we kind of overshot a little. See, when Lantresor sent his letter, he mentioned forming a new “Burning Skull” ogre clan, and wanting to sign on… then he said he got that Mogor ogre dude to port “us” to what I’m guessing was Ratchet (where, if epic limericks are to be believed, there once was a goblin from)… and that “we” would arrive in Grommash Hold soon.
And see, that’s great and all. Problem was, “us” and “we” didn’t give me much of an idea of how many people “us” and “we” were, and based on everything else Lantresor was saying, as far as I knew, dude was gonna roll up on Orgrimmar with his whole damn ogre clan. And seriously, have you ever tried feeding a bunch of ogres? Pro tip: don’t. Trust me. I’ve been to Brackenwall Village a bunch of times to see Draz’Zilb. You know why the place always looks so run down? Because motherfuckers don’t have time to fix shit when motherfuckers gotta spend their whole day scraping up enough food to cover their daily requirement of 20,000 calories a head. Including a bunch of dudes who’ve got more than one head.
Anyway, point is, I had some indeterminate-sized ogre contingent rolling on into town, and I knew I was going to have to FEED these stupid assholes, because, you know, I’m not going to be fucking RUDE. (Greatmother didn’t raise no ungracious hosts. My heretofore unboxed ears would not survive.) So I had to have Marogg err on the side of safety and crank out enough grub to feed a small army of ogres. Which… let me tell you, that’s not gonna be a fun line item to see in next month’s budget report. I might have to get some slaughterhouses up and running just to offset the dent this puts in the meat supply. Maybe in the Barrens. Seems like we’ve got some spare real estate out there. Anyhow, I digress.
Bottom line, Marogg pulled in a bunch of culinary personnel to help – I even got our ol’ pal Ji Lunchbox and some of his panda buddies chipping in on this – and managed to whip up enough eats to cover our bases. And so, who shows up?
Lantresor and Mogor.
The end. THAT was the fucking “we.” Lantresor and his double-headed, half-brained plus-fucking-one.
FUCKED OVER ONCE AGAIN BY AMBIGUOUS PRONOUN ANTECEDENTS. SEE? SEE? IMPRECISE GRAMMAR CAN COST A SMALL FORTUNE. STAY IN FUCKING SCHOOL, KIDS.
Um. I mean “fucking school” as in… like… you know… just school. Not school for fucking. Because for one thing, I mean, I get enough hate mail as it is, without advocating THAT certificate program. And for another, not for nothing, but it would be kind of a futile teaching exercise. Either you got it or you don’t. Sorry, nerds.
MOVING ON.
Anyway, point is, we massively overshot there, so, you know, if you happen to be in the Orgrimmar neck of the woods, and you like Kickin’ Chimaerok Chops, well, I’ve got leftovers. Like… a LOT of leftovers. Like make-the-week-after-Pilgrim’s-Bounty-look-like-fucking-NOTHING kind of leftovers. And the faster they get eaten, the sooner I can relieve the frost mages I’ve got on duty round the clock keeping the shit from spoiling. And MAN OH MAN, you can practically HEAR Ji high-tailing it over here with a fork and knife in hand, can’t you?
So where was I? Oh. Yeah. Lantresor.
So yeah, the initial meeting went pretty well. I don’t know if either of us knew what to make of the other at first, but after a little while we started exchanging stories about ways we’ve each messed with Jorin Deadeye, and that broke the ice right quick. We still have some odds and ends to work out, but it looks like Lantresor and his crew are going to come on board, which is only going to help shore up defenses on a bunch of different fronts. Plus, Lantresor apparently knows a handful of blademasters from the old Burning Blade clan who are still hiding out in Outland, and he seems pretty confident he could bring them over as well. So, a lot of potential win going on.
The only awkward part has been how Lantresor kept asking about Shayari. And, um, you know… after Khizzara turned on the warning lights on that one, just to be safe, I made sure Shay was out of town when Lantresor was due to arrive. By… well… sending her off on a shopping trip. Which… seemed like a decent enough idea at the time. Until she got home with a fucking kodo carrying the stuff she bought. Including the kodo. This one’s gonna leave a mark, I can tell.
Meanwhile, Lantresor keeps asking after Shay. I may just have to bite the cannonball and try to get Garona over here.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
More soon.
