Monthly Archives: October 2011
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!