Monthly Archives: October 2011
Visiting Desolation Hold
Okay, so can somebody please explain to me, what is it about these damn Forsaken that makes them completely incapable of leaving anything the fuck ALONE?
Let me backtrack. I finally got settled in at Desolation Hold, and was starting in on my debriefing with Warlord Bloodhilt, who’s turning out to be a much better hire than his predecessor, Gar’dul. I mean, Gar’dul had already shown himself to be a pretty major fuck-up, what with letting the Alliance run roughshod all over the Battlescar, and losing ground left and right…and don’t even get me started on what he let happen to Camp Taurajo on his watch. It was pretty painfully obvious that he needed to go, which is why I sent Bloodhilt down to take over, but from what I hear, Gar’dul also managed to really bomb the exit interview while he was at it.
So come to find out, after Gar’dul had been relieved of duty (you might notice, by the way, being “relieved of duty” in the Horde often involves falling from a great height – fair warning to those of you out there whose ambition might be greater than your talent), nobody bothered to dispose of the body properly. Ordinarily, of course, this would be an easy problem to fix, seeing as sooner or later somebody would be like, “Hey, check out the corpse laying in the middle of our outpost. It’s starting to smell. We should probably do something about that.” In this case, though, Desolation Hold apparently had its very own resident in-house weirdo who took it upon himself to haul the body off for his own purposes.
I’m talking, of course, about that crazy-ass undead dude named Calder Gray, who some of you might remember being kicked the hell out of Orgrimmar for his experiments. Not that he was violating any actual laws with them, even, but just, you know, eww. So somehow or other, Calder Gray got hold of Gar’dul’s body, and did a whole stitch job on him using some parts from other corpses (where he got the parts exactly, I think I’d just as soon not know…), and before you could say “It’s alive!”, whammo, reanimated semi-Gar’dul monstrosity.
So there I was in my meeting with Bloodhilt, when Gar’dul 2.0 comes staggering on in, bashing down the door and stumbling into the room. But here’s the funny part. At first, Bloodhilt and I both jump up and get ready to fight this thing, and I have to admit I was a little irritated on top of it all, because seriously how many times am I going to have to deal with an undead enemy composed of the reanimated corpse of a former Horde command officer? (Note to self: Send Dontrag and Utvoch back up to Stonetalon to make sure Krom’gar’s body is accounted for, because fucking hell.) But get this – instead of attacking us, this thing just kind of starts fluttering around the room, acting all pansy and talking with this idiotic lisp, and asking if anybody knew what had happened to “Lily,” who I guess was Gar’dul’s wife, but I’m kinda having my doubts about that one, or “Eddie,” apparently his son, although you might have to take that up with Lily, see above.
So, that just goes to show what a bad call I made with Gar’dul in the first place, seeing as even in reanimated vengeful rampaging form, he still couldn’t get his foppish ass to put up any kind of a fight. Oh well, live and learn. I’ve already had him sent back to Orgrimmar to work under Marogg as a sous chef. Probably working on pastry mostly. (Lemon squares, anyone?) Meanwhile, I’m having Calder Gray kept under surveillance now, to make sure he doesn’t get up to any more trouble.
Hallow’s End mailbag
Could definitely use a pick-me-up after yesterday, so here’s my idea: since we’re right in the middle of Hallow’s End (one of the few honest to goodness cool things we’ve gotten from the Forsaken), and this Monday is the last day, I think I’d like to do a Hallow’s End mailbag this coming week.
Here’s where I need my loyal readers and minions to come through for me, though, because I can’t make it happen without you. So for this next upcoming mailbag, since I know you’re all avid gamers – crack out your Hallow’s End costume and WRITE IN AS YOUR EARTH ONLINE CHARACTER!
Send those letters to me at garrosh1337@gmail.com — get into character and join in on the fun (and don’t be the lame one who screws up the party by not participating…yes, I’m talking to YOU).
Back to business in the Barrens shortly.
Camp Taurajo
Just arrived at Desolation Hold. I’ll be meeting with Warlord Bloodhilt shortly, but first I need to take an hour or two for myself to let off some steam. It would have been really nice if this first inspection trip after Stonetalon could have gotten off to a good start, but then again I probably just have myself to blame this time.
I should have known better than to start off by going to the ruins of Camp Taurajo.
Of all the things that gall me about the humans, today reminds me of the one I hate the most: their arrogance. Their condescension. Their unrelenting, unmitigated, insufferable smug superiority. All wrapped up with their limitless, guiltless capacity to pat themselves on the back even while they stab you in yours. Worse than a whole race of rogues, they are.
They call us savages.
US.
Look around what’s left of that village and tell me who the savages are. Where is YOUR demon blood, humans? Who is YOUR Mannoroth? We orcs embraced a madness for a time, it’s true, and sold our souls for foolish, fleeting promises of power. What did you sell YOURS for? It looks like given half a chance, you couldn’t give them away fast enough.
And they call US the savages.
The sight of the burning buildings is nothing. It’s the smell of the burning bodies – smoking remains of tauren everywhere. You can’t escape that smell. I’m never going to a steak house again as long as I live. And even then I don’t know what’s worse, the ones that burned, or the ones I can still see – stretched out on the ground, clearly fleeing. Civilians. Children. Those who hung back trying to buy the others time. That’s what their flight master was doing. Omusa Thunderhorn – I knew him. Holding the line on the western edge of the village. His two wyverns fighting and falling beside him…it really is a trait they all share, isn’t it, that loyalty? Mortimer sat by the bodies for a while before I could get him to move. I’d never thought the beasts could grieve. Shows what I know.
There were human looters still lurking about when I arrived. Because there really is no final insult great enough for these humans, is there? They swarmed the place like ants. It seemed as if around every corner there were two more. I was supposed to be passing through to survey the site for just a few minutes. I ended up staying for over an hour, just to make sure there wasn’t a single one of the vermin left living. It’s a pity these humans die so easily, or I might have a feeling of satisfaction.
And then there’s the human behind all this. A general named Hawthorne. Horde agents tracked him down and slaughtered him for his crime – I don’t know whether to give them medals or resent them for depriving me of the chance to do it myself. But you know what? Just as well. Death was too good for him…death was a tiny fragment of what he deserved…death is what he got. A clean death, a quick death, a body returned to his people for whatever burial human custom requires.
And we’re the savages.
They’ll pay for this. I’ll tell you that much. There are whole generations of humans still unborn who will live to curse what’s happened here.
They have no idea what savagery is.
They will learn.
[Header image provided by regular reader and commenter Eravia, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Back to the inspection tour…
I’m going to be getting back to the next wave of inspection visits this week. First up I’ll be checking up on the Southern Barrens. I was getting reports that Warlord Gar’dul was putting out some heavy-duty fail out there (and seriously, could I make just ONE COMMAND APPOINTMENT these days without it blowing up in my face?), so I sent Warlord Bloodhilt to relieve him at Desolation Hold. Hopefully he’s getting things cleaned up out there.
After that I’m due for a couple stops in Desolace. Right now it looks like the plan is for me to make a stop in Mulgore on the way there from the Barrens, so I’m supposed to be having a meeting with Baine Bloodhoof while I’m in Thunder Bluff. Not really looking forward to that. It’s going to be the first time I’ve seen him since…well…you know. AWKWARD.
I need to check in with Eitrigg on a last couple matters, then I’ll be heading out as soon as Mortimer’s saddled up and the Kor’kron escort is ready to go. More updates soon.
Monday mailbag
Hey guys, I just got in from EarthCon, which let me tell you was a blast. They announced the next expansion, where they’re adding a new continent to the game, although there was a lot of nerdraging over it. Turns out the new continent had been mentioned in the game before, but just as a running joke, so now some people are like, “Seriously? They’re actually going to do a whole expansion about Australians?”
I can’t say I totally disagree with them, to be honest. I mean I love this game, but they showed some concept art for some of the new mobs there, one creature called a Platypus and one called a Wombat, and really, dude, they’re not even fucking trying anymore. There was also one called a Kangaroo, and if nothing else I guess now we know what that murloc must have fucked to spawn the first gorloc. So good job there I guess.
Anyway, I’m pretty wiped out so I’m just going to do a couple quick letters this week.
You told my wife that “Hellscream’s eyes were upon her” and now she won’t…you know…with me. Could you please tell her that you meant it metaphorically? Thanks.
–Very Frustrated
Meta what? Oh wait, you mean metamorphosis? Because no, here’s the thing, yeah, the warlock I have assigned to your wife is demonology, but he doesn’t actually have to go into demon form to use his Eye of Kilrogg. So I think you might be going for overkill there.
Still, sorry your wife is holding out on you these days. Especially what with that thing she does with her tongue.
Horde > Twilight’s Hammer! Remember the Wrathgate!
–Bob, Echo Isles
Dude, seriously, you picked the wrong guy to try to slip a Wrathgate reference past. You know I was actually in COMMAND up in Northrend for like a year, right? And hate to break it to you, but we weren’t fighting the Twilight’s Hammer at the Wrathgate. There were no Twilight’s Hammer anywhere NEARBY. It was all Scourge and Alliance and that nutjob undead Putress group that tried to overthrow Sylvanas.
Look, I’m all for talking smack (by the by, fuck you, Varian), but if you’re going to trash talk over major events would it KILL you to do your fucking homework?
I was just questing in the Barrens and something occurred to me. Right now after years of adventuring I’m powerful enough that the enemies in the Barrens aren’t much of a threat, so I tear through them fast. But that got me wondering, since the Horde obviously has lots of very powerful warriors, why don’t you just send some of them to the lower level zones to handle the problems there? The quest givers in those areas act like the enemies are posing a threat but your garden variety soldier in Twilight Highlands could take them all on at once no problem.
–Malkar, Orgrimmar
First of all, nice job with the cool little AA internal rhyme scheme with your signature there, Malkar.
As for your question…I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I didn’t even know about this myself until I became Warchief, although once I did find out, it made all kinds of sense.
Like you said, Malkar, if you’ve spent any time at all traveling around Horde territories, you’ve noticed that everywhere you go, it seems like there are Horde agents looking for help with all sorts of odds and ends. Sometimes they need enemies slain. Sometimes there’s an animal population that needs to be thinned out. Sometimes there are supplies or resources to be gathered up. Sometimes there’s a delivery that needs to be made. And so on. And so there’s always a demand for helpful citizens to step up and get the job done.
But…these odds jobs really don’t make a whole lot of sense. Because you’re right, the baddies you’re getting called upon to fight really aren’t anything that couldn’t be handled easily enough by anyone who’s ever set foot in Northrend. Or hey, let’s forget about the fighting, even. That delivery you were just asked to make? The package from Desolace that needed to be dropped off in Feralas? Well…you know they DO have MAIL DELIVERY in Feralas, right? Hold on, let me double check.
Yep. Look at that. They have mail delivery. Oh wait, let’s be totally sure, do they have mailboxes in Desolace?
Well I’ll be damned, they do. Which begs the question, WHY CAN’T THEY DROP THEIR DAMN PACKAGE IN THE FUCKING MAILBOX THAT’S TEN FUCKING FEET AWAY FROM THEM?
Erm, okay, I shouldn’t let that get me yelling since I already know the answer.
Here’s the thing. If you go to a lot of Horde territories, you’ll find the place practically swarming with bunches of wannabe adventurers looking for ways to help. And don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought, but like…they’re not very good. Half the time they don’t know where they’re going even when they have a fucking map right in their pocket, and they don’t even know how to use the abilities they were just trained in an hour ago, and holy shit they die easy. Like for instance, I know from Dark Cleric Cecille that a lot of aspiring Forsaken adventurers grew up in total dread of this one Son of Arugal who used to wander around in Silverpine Forest. He’d lay waste to them. People would yell out warnings like “OMG SON OF ARUGAL RUN!!” and need to round up two or three friends to even try to take him out. A Son of fucking Arugal. Do you know how easy it is to kill a Son of Arugal? Every time I sneeze, I kill three of them, and I’m not even on the same fucking continent. And these nubs are dying to one by the bushel.
And yet, these scrubs are hell-bent on helping the cause. And they’re like ants. There’s hundreds of them, everywhere, and no matter what you do, you can’t get rid of them. And yet they’re running around trying to help, and biting off more than they can chew, and then we have to send people to go rescue them or at least collect their remains, or even if they don’t go get themselves in trouble they’re just hanging around distracting our more experienced soldiers from more important matters.
So way before I even showed up here, the higher-ups in the Horde worked out a way to deal with this. They assigned people to all the Horde zones whose job was…basically…to come up with ways to keep these noobs busy. Anything to keep them occupied. Go kill some boars. Deliver this package to the next town over. See those shiny rocks just outside of town? Go gather up about fifty for me. See this guy standing right next to me? Talk to him. Tell him I said hi. Let him know I sent you. He’ll never see it coming.
Just play it up and make it sound important, they’ll feel like they’re contributing, they’ll stay out of trouble, and we’ll be fine. And meanwhile we can maybe get a few odd jobs taken care of while we’re at it. And maybe, every once in a while, we’ll uncover a diamond in the rough who’s actually up to the task for some missions we really need done.
That’s it for now. As always, send your letters and questions to garrosh1337@gmail.com. See you guys soon, I’m gonna crash.
EarthCon
Sorry if I’m a little quiet the next day or two. Spazzle was able to swing a couple tickets for EarthCon, this huge (and, yeah, kind of dorky) convention for Earth Online players. They’re supposed to be unveiling a ton of upcoming content, including a preview of the next expansion. Maybe they’ll talk some more about the lawyer hero class. Seems pretty cool so far. Other than being really nerdy. (UGH WHAT DID YOU ROPE ME INTO, SPAZZLE?!)
Anyway, the Tauren Chieftains are going to be performing too, so that much is going to be unambiguously cool.
I’ll try to keep updates coming when I can, but don’t be too shocked if the blog is a little quiet this weekend. In the meantime, don’t forget to send your questions to garrosh1337@gmail.com for this week’s mailbag!
Cool things about being Warchief
I recently had someone suggest that I maybe complain about things too much. While I personally think this is a gigantic steaming pile of horseshit, I thought I might try making a point of looking at the positive side of things. So here’s a list of some of my favorite things about being Warchief:
- You know when you’re running up to the zeppelin tower and you can see the zeppelin is there, and you figure there’s no way you’re going to make it in time but you run up the tower as fast as you can anyway, and against all odds it’s still there when you get to the top of the ramp, only in the time it takes you to get from the stairwell to the end of the landing platform the zeppelin it taking off and gets JUST far enough away that you can’t quite jump on? Yeah, well, that still happens. But when the zeppelin comes back again, you can have the pilot executed.
- When somebody pays the goblin dude on your tundra mammoth for repairs, you get a cut. A big cut, if Greeny McEasilykilled knows what’s good for him.
- Even though people seem to be trying to poison you with alarming regularity, you have food tasters to make sure everything you eat is okay. As an extra bonus, you can hand-pick which Alliance prisoners these food tasters are going to be. (I usually pick a gnome if possible. They turn the funniest shade of green just before they croak.) Most of the time, they’re so damn hungry and overjoyed to be getting anything to eat at all, they never even stop to think that anything is up. The looks on their faces – the “Oh SHIT, why the fuck didn’t I THINK of this?!” look – in that moment between the poison kicking in and when they drop dead? Awesome. Totally worth the price of knowing that there are unknown parties trying to kill you who apparently have access to your food.
- According to tauren tribal custom, anytime someone in the Valley of Wisdom bakes a pie, you get the first piece.
- When somebody says, “You’re no Thrall,” you can totally reply, “You’re right, Thrall would never just up and chop off somebody’s foot like that. Oh, I’m sorry, did I break your concentration? Pardon me. Please, let’s resume our critique of my job performance.”
- Due to a little-known technicality, the furbolgs of Timbermaw Hold recognize you as an Archbishop.
- If somebody, say, kills your dad, you can carve the dude’s remains into a throne and set it up in your war room. Think about that. Every time somebody comes to see you, you’re kicking back sitting on a chair made out of the FUCKING SKULL OF THE LAST GUY THAT REALLY PISSED YOU OFF.
- Bearer of the ultimate suck-on-it trump card at class reunions.
- Two words: Kor’kron strippers.
- As a point of honor, Varian has to welcome into his throne room any diplomatic emissaries you decide to send to Stormwind. This might not sound so cool, but it gets real awesome real fast when you make the emissaries eat nothing but beans and asparagus for three days leading up to the visit.
It must be hard getting old…
Yesterday was Greatmother Geyah’s birthday, so I made a short trip back to Nagrand to go see her. The folks back in Garadar were giving her a birthday party, and it was good to see everybody, other than Greatmother feeling the need (yet again) to tell everyone the story about the time when I was a little kid when I was climbing a tree, and got up to one of the higher branches but slipped, but my pants got caught on the branch while I was starting to fall, and as I fell the pants got yanked down around my ankles, and so I was just hanging upside down there with my pants around my ankles and the branch hooked between my feet, and I was just stuck dangling there for a while, and, commando even then, so, you know. She always tells that story every chance she gets, because spirits forbid you let the fucking Warchief be taken seriously for a couple minutes. But she means well, and she’s getting up there and probably a little senile, so whatever.
Anyway, while I was out there, I decided to drop by a few of my old hunting spots for old time’s sake. I was going to bring Hemet Nesingwary along with me, but he was having a good old time messing with some random scrubs who were hanging around out there – people keep coming to him wanting to prove what great outdoorsmen they are, and so he just makes up random stuff to have them go kill and see how quick they eat up the chance to waste their time on pointless shit. Like seriously, you should see how many people just jump at the chance to burn up their whole day killing random animals that absolutely anyone with a sword could kill, because they actually believe that killing a bunch of talbuk that are standing around RIGHT THERE is the way to impress Hemet Fucking Nesingwary.
(That’s his real middle name, by the way. Man, his parents must have hated him. Can you imagine what middle school must have been like?)
At one point a couple years ago I think people started getting wise to the scam, so he had to dial it down a little and ask them to kill less stuff. Seriously, there was a point when he would send people all over the place killing 30 of like…everything out there. After a while he cut that down to like a dozen, just to make sure he didn’t totally lose his supply of takers. Still, it’s pretty funny to watch the fuckers eat it up even now.
So anyway, he was busy with that, so I just went out to Oshu’gun myself to see if Banthar was still wandering around. It didn’t take long to find her, but what the FUCK, man, I almost missed her what with the fucking DYE job she got apparently. Because like…okay, check it out. Back in the day, when I remember coming out here, this is what Banthar looked like:
And here’s what she looks like nowadays:
I mean, that’s just sad. It’s bad enough when an orc starts to go gray, and freaks out, and goes way overboard dyeing his hair that pitch pitch black, that shade of black that doesn’t even fucking exist in nature, and half the time they try to do the pathetic comb-over too, which let me tell you, looks sad enough on humans but is even less kind with orc hairlines. But seriously, now we’ve got a CLEFTHOOF going through midlife crisis and dyeing herself auburn? How fucking sad is that? What’s she going to do next, start riding around in a convertible wagon and hitting on clefthoofs half her age? Plus, how the fuck did she even manage to dye herself brown anyway?! If I go over to Sunspring Lake, are there going to be all these floating dye circles and stains around the shore? I can just imagine one of the ethereals over at Aeris Landing seeing this going down and being all, “Hey, Chip, check this out, you’re not going to believe this shit…”
Really, if a fucking clefthoof can’t age with dignity, what chance do the rest of us have?
[Header image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Monday mailbag
So, back to business with a fresh mailbag. Sorry I missed last week, but after everything that went down in Stonetalon, I really wasn’t up to answering letters last Monday. Luckily that’s all in the past now, so I can get back to the blog and not be reminded of that whole disaster. Let’s see what we’ve got this week…
Blood and Thunder Warchief Hellscream,
I extend my thanks to you warchief for upon your visit to Stonetalon Mountains you weeded out the corruption and “relieved of duty” Overlord Krom’Gar. Although my wife and child could not be spared before your arrival I will take your lessons to heart “honor, no matter how dire the battle never forsake it.”
My Wife and Child are now buried and I laid their remains and would ask that you would only take a moment out of your day of mountainous paperwork to remember them and honor them. ‘Lok Tar Ogar, Victory or Death’ mighty Warchief.
–High Chieftian Cliffwalker
OH FUCKING HELL, SERIOUSLY??
I mean, um, yeah. Very sorry for your loss, Chieftain. Respect. (Dammit, where’s Spazzle when I need a hand with the damn erase button again?)
We should definitely set up some kind of proper memorial for your family, though. I have to admit I’m not really up to speed on tauren traditions, so you might want to talk to someone a little more in the know to make arrangements. I would offer to help with that myself, but I feel like it might not be such a hot idea for me to go up to Baine Bloodhoof and ask him about tauren burial customs. Things might get a little weird.
6 – 6 x 6 = 0. Discuss.
–Bob, Echo Isles
Dammit this is my mailbag, not math class.
Besides, what’s there to discuss? 6 – 6 x 6 = 0, the end. What do you want, a medal for knowing the obvious?
Hail, Warchief! As a concerned citizen of Silvermoon, I have a request.
As you well know, we are without a real leader just at the moment. Our King, Anastarian Sunstrider, has fallen. Our Prince, Kael’thas Sunstrider, went bat-shyte koo-koo. And our Regent-Lord, Lor’themar Theron … well, you know. Decent fellow, but mostly useless. It’d be nice to have a real King again.
Anyway, I was reading up on Earth Online the other day, about this place called “Sweden”, and this guy named “Bernadotte”, and I got an idea.
Do you have any officers that aren’t doing anything especially important? I hear Bragor Bloodfist is looking for a new posting.
–A Concerned Citizen
P.S.: I just hit the level cap on my “aeronautical engineer”, by the way. The leveling tests were pretty brutal, but the end-game looks sweet.
First of all, ACC, what’s the deal with the aeronautical engineer thing? Is that some kind of hybrid spec? Because I thought the talent trees were Chemical, Electrical, and Mechanical. Did I miss something on the wiki? Meanwhile, I’m still playing around with the veterinarian, but I also just rolled a humanities-spec teacher class (for those of you wondering, by the way, that would be the human equivalent of orcities studies). Who knows how that will go.
Now, for your question. See, I’d be all for installing my own people to run puppet governments for me, and saving all the trouble that comes with giving the different city leaders the leeway to do things their way, but if you don’t do it right it’s more headaches than it’s worth. Biggest problem is it’s AWFULLY hard to keep control of a captive population if the people weren’t on board with the regime change. Like take Magatha Grimtotem trying to stage a coup in Thunder Bluff after Cairne died. How’d that work out for her? Yeah.
Thing is, for you blood elves, it kinda sucks because if you’d had this idea a couple years ago, we could have done something about it. Like if you could make a move right after the truth about Kael’thas came out, there’d probably be enough backlash against him in Silvermoon that the people would be all over a new leader. Open arms, figurehead installed, profit. Of course, back at the time when the iron was hot, we had Thrall running things all white-hat style and me off in Nagrand still cutting myself and shit. But still. Good job being slow with this idea just the same. Honestly, though, trying to do it that way now, we’re just going to get stuck with uprisings and unrest and all kinds of other crap.
As for Bragor, are you serious? I’m supposed to give him a promotion for mediocrity? He’s barely been able to stay on top of thing just WATCHING the Undercity, you want me to give him even MORE authority somewhere? Speaking of Bragor keeping his eyes on things…
While I deeply appreciate your taking the time to respond to my previous note, I fail entirely to see what is wrong with the way I dress, such as to justify the manner in which Captain Bloodfist has been persistently leering at me these past months.
–Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Undercity
Yeah, you’re right. Don’t know what I was thinking.
Ive never seen a wisp deliver a letter in my life but here i sit, outside the Darnassus wisp delivery outpost, trying to pen an urgent plea for help using only the supplies these hippies wonderful like minded people ancsestor dammed night elven scum use.I only hope you get this message before your murder destroy its carrier since i can already feel myself becoming lost again, each time i succomb it becomes more and more difficult to resist. but then why would i want to resist, i dont want to be a part o each time i loose another part of myself to this sickness.I dont have much time.It began a fortnight ago, I began to feel ill while resting in Orgrimmar, i thought that sleep would do me good but i couldnt rest, i could think only of traveling to ashenvale. as time went on the thought turned into a nessesity, i couldnt stay in the city any longer. I dont know how long i had traveled before i blacked out, the next thing i remember was waking up in the inn in Darnassus with strange thoughts echoing in my head.I dont know how much longer i will remain myself, if i can i will escape, i will find a cure, but i beg you warchief, do not brand me a traitor, i did not ask for this gift curse.
Um, yeah.
Okay, first of all, the wisp delivery thing? That’s not what it is. It’s called E-MAIL. The wispy thing you’re talking about is actually an electrical signal coded by a machine and relayed through cables and wires. (Yes, yes, Spazzle, also sent through why-fly, but there’s no sense confusing this guy any more.)
Still, I can understand how you would be mixed up there, being as you’re apparently surrounded by night elves. In Darnassus, no less. Actually, tell me something, did they feel the need to fucking dip everything THERE in glitter too? Just wondering.
Either way, sounds like you’re having a pretty rough time of it. From what I can gather from your letter. Which, frankly, isn’t a whole lot – and by the way, next time you might maybe want to try taking off your mittens when you’re working on an e-mail – other than I guess you need help. Which I would totally send for you, but you never actually signed your letter or told me who the hell you are, so I wouldn’t even know who to tell the Kor’kron detachment to look for.
So, you know, sucks to be you, I guess.
We are have multiple complaint about your command, to please confirm leadership visit identity verify office for submit banking record and identification validate. Warchief will be suspend if not verify. Thank you.
–Warchiefsecuresafe, Pandaria
OMG WTF!!!! What the hell is this?!? Oh wait, WAIT – THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS WORRIED ABOUT BEFORE!! Yeah, see, SEE, I KNEW someone could try something like this after the whole fake letter from Thrall a few weeks ago!! But everybody was like “oh pooh pooh, silly Garrosh, why do you get upset about nothing?” WELL IT’S NOT NOTHING NOW IS IT MOTHERFUCKERS!!!
Okay so you guys will have to excuse me while I go try to straighten this whole mess out. I hope they have an office locally, I don’t even know where the fuck Pandaria is…
Anyway, that’s it for this week. Remember to keep your letters coming – garrosh1337@gmail.com – and I’ll crank out another batch for next time.
Quoth the Druid
Once upon a late night dreary,
As I pondered, weak and weary
After many – far too many –
Gaming hours sealed off aloof,
While I nodded, nearly napping
Suddenly there came a tapping
Like an o’erhead wyvern crapping
Crapping pellets on my roof.
“That’s no shitting wyvern,” said I,
“Casting crap upon my roof.
That’s just knocking, stupid goof.”
Yeah, I know, that was retarded
To think my roof had been bombarded
By some incontinent wyvern
Doing business as he’d soar.
But, you see, I was so sleepy,
And exhaustion had me weepy,
And the tapping knocks were creepy –
Creepy tapping at my door
So my sleepy brain went places
Places never gone before
Anyway, yeah, it’s the door.
Then I strode so very bravely
To the door and bellowed gravely,
“What the fuck, dude, have you never
Ever used your brain before?
Never mind the creepy tapping –
Shades of sounds of wyverns crapping –
Yeah, forget it – just recapping
How you knocked upon my door.
Never mind your oddball rapping
Freaked me out – I should be napping,
Having dreams of BG capping
(Just provided rogues aren’t sapping)
And of human spinal snapping,
Not to mention big game trapping,
To the wagon, carcass strapping,
Mount the head with hunters clapping,
Then I’ll do some vendor slapping,
Winter’s Veil and present wrapping,
Hear the sounds of brown wings flapping,
Shit, I’m back to wyverns crapping!
Fuck it! This whole part I’m scrapping.
(Yeah, I really need some napping.)
But, the knocking on my door:
Dude, the time – it’s half past four.
Look, I don’t know where you grew up,
Or what mess you’re here to brew up,
But I’ll tell you, dammit, this is
Not the hour to just drop by.
Wrists are sore and eyes are stinging,
Just two bubbles short of dinging,
So, believe me, you are clinging
To your last hope ere you die.
So what business are you bringing?”
Here no sound save crickets singing.
Silence. What’s the deal? Stand by.
“Listen up, dude, I’ve had enough.
Take a hike, and use a haste buff.
Otherwise, it’s late, so tell me
What you came here to discuss.
By all rights I should be sleeping,
But the weird hours that I’m keeping
Have saved you a heap of weeping
When you came to start a fuss.”
And at that, heroic leaping,
Flung the door wide open thus:
Holy fuck! Lather-on-us!
Just a moment was he standing,
Posture stern and face demanding,
And he said, “Hellscream, the wrath
Of DEHTA now shall you incur!”
That one really made me chuckle,
Then a feast of sandwich-knuckle
Flew at him – his knees did buckle
As in air he formed a blur.
All around my chamber flying
When by rights he should be dying!
All my grabs and swings defying
As my rage he dared to stir.
“What the fuck’s your problem!” crying
Out I chased the blasted cur.
Quoth the druid: “Mortimer.”
“Fucking bird!” I screamed as he fled.
“Fucking bird!” He pecked at my head
As he fluttered round the rafters
In the room – annoying, sure.
Swooping ’round, he did not tire.
“Fucking bird!” He hovered higher,
Just beyond my grasp entire,
On and on this did recur.
“Fucking bird!” (At least not fire.)
Flying feathered saboteur.
Quoth the druid: “Mortimer.”
“Yeah, but what about him, bastard?”
Flying nuisance flying faster.
“Fucking bird!” He dipped and dove
And pricked my side as if a burr.
Driven out onto the rampart,
“Fucking bird!” The pricks did restart.
Even though I got a head start
He was on my ass, yes sir.
Driven back into the railing,
Tired and drained, my strength was failing,
Hopelessly my weapon flailing –
Not the fate I would prefer.
“Fucking bird!” I kept on howling.
Then above there came a growling
As of some winged creature prowling,
Swooping down with claw and fur.
’Tis some diving bat or owling
Racing near as if a blur.
Eyes deceive me! Mortimer!
Lather-on-us squawked delighted,
With his ally reunited –
But his joy was quite shortsighted:
Not quite truth did he infer!
For the wyvern’s swooping anger
Loosed afresh from Kor’kron hangar
Was unleashed with piercing fang, er,
Fangs, I mean. (That’s plural, dur.)
And the druid’s damned demented
Diving dusky beak was dented
And his cries grew discontented
As a beating did occur.
Flapping wings of flutt’ring feathers
Slapped around by wyvern leather
As if saying, “Garrosh? Never!
You shall take your leave now, sir!”
Thought he had me? Yeah, whatever.
Some bad news I must confer.
Now go get ’im, Mortimer!
Now the druid’s stitched up, resting,
While my wyvern’s upstairs nesting,
In the attic pen I’d crafted
Where he makes contented purr.
Banes and bombs and birds fate may send,
Kor’kron guards may help to defend,
But above all, you can depend
On what nothing will deter.
Dog may be the human’s best friend –
For the orc? That’s Mortimer.
Off flight duty, that’s for sure.
EPIC VERSE!
