Monthly Archives: July 2012

Monday mailbag


It’s been a while since the last mailbag, so while I’ve got a break in the action, let’s see what’s piled up the last few weeks…


Dear Warchief,

Since Faranell has effectively retired from the Royal Apothecary Society, I’m wondering if Sylvanas is taking applications for a new Master Apothecary? I’m a veteran alchemist who’s been at the craft for several years. I even worked out a formula to turn myself into a dragon – rar! Any chance you could put in a good word for me?

–Karelien, Silvermoon City

Sorry to tell you, Karelien, the master apothecary job is already filled. Once it got decided that Faranell was being moved over to Hearthglen, Sylvanas went ahead and did a promotion from within, and appointed Apothecary Zinge to take over as head of the RAS. If you want, I could maybe see about getting you into some kind of entry-level position over there. Not what you were shooting for, I know, but you have to start somewhere. I get the sense that Sylvanas doesn’t do a lot of hiring from the outside, so if you want to have any shot at all at the higher positions, you probably need to already be on the ladder.

If you do land a job over there, by the way, could I maybe ask you to keep an eye on Overseer Kraggosh, and just try to discourage him from packing away so many cheesy steak melts? I’m all for steak, but I swear the Undercity’s got rivers of viscous slime that have a smoother flow to them than that dude’s arteries.


Hey mon,

Do you know where Mankrik’s wife be at?

–Bob, Echo Isles

Oh, geez, this guy again.

I already addressed this one like a zillion times last year, when I was making an inspection stop in the Barrens. Where – just to recap – somebody was asking about Mankrik’s wife like every five minutes. Over and over. Fuck, people are annoying.

Here’s where the joke’s on you, though, Bobby-Boy. Back THEN, I might have taken the bait and started ranting at you about his wife having a memorial and all that shit. NOW, though, you ask me where Mankrik’s wife is, and you know what? You’re gonna have to specify WHICH ONE. That’s right, over the last year or so, our boy Mankrik has managed to calm down a little (and holy shit did he need it), courtesy of a whole bunch of consoling and support from this Earthen Ring shaman named Mahka. The two of them wound up growing pretty close, and a few months ago, they decided to make it official and held a quiet life-mate ceremony in Mulgore. If you’re wondering why you didn’t hear about this, well, let’s face it, Thrall’s wedding pretty much pushed everybody else’s deal to the back pages. Self-Important Green Savior Finally Gets Some, stop the presses. Whatever.

Oh, and for the record, the first Mrs. Mankrik? Still dead. Let’s hope things stay that way (you never know about that shit these days), or things might get kind of awkward.


Hey Warchief,

So, crossbow to your head, what do you think – Mylune or Garona? You know what I’m askin.

–Backstab Bladeflurry

Okay, so before I answer your question, Backstab, I have to ask. That’s your name? Seriously? Backstab Bladeflurry? I mean, I KNOW that can’t be your ACTUAL name, because I don’t think ANYONE could hate their kid that much. But you know, the thought that you made up a name for yourself, and that’s the one you came up with…that might actually be even sadder. Seriously, dude, how old are you? Because that sounds like the kind of name you would get if you let a 10-year-old name himself, assuming “Videogame K. Dinosaur” was already taken.

Also, I’m guessing you’re…what…a rogue? Gonna stick my neck WAY out there. Come on, man, if you’re going to make up a name for yourself, it’s bad enough you’re making it a stupid-sounding name. But a stupid-sounding name that’s just a list or your class abilities? Come on. Do you think people would take me seriously if I went around introducing myself as Overpower Heroicstrike? Or maybe Saurfang could start calling himself Cleave McCleaveyouagain? (To be fair, he might possibly be able to carry that off.) Or, hey, Liadrin is a paladin, maybe she should start calling herself Holy Divine Light Shield Shock Hammer Flash Righteous Hand. Really, the only time that kind of a name even kind of worked was with Rend Blackhand, and look how great things wound up going for him.

Anyway, I just had to get that out of my system. Now for your question.



Dear Warchief,

I’m writing to ask if you have any idea why people keep trying to kill me. I’m generally a fairly peaceful fellow, but random strangers keep coming into the inn where I’m just trying to have a drink and attacking me. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but they’re not leaving me any choice but to defend myself. But I don’t understand why they keep doing it.

–Gamon, Orgrimmar

Yeah, Gamon, I’ve heard the ruckus over there a few times, what with you having to lay the smackdown on some noobs every once in a while. Gotta be honest, this one has me stumped. I can’t think of any reason people might have for coming after you, you’ve always seemed like a pretty good dude to me. Maybe… I know it’s kind of the pat to-go answer for people going all violent and hostile, but I don’t know, like…the Old Gods?  Maybe? Dunno.

Good luck not dying, though.


Dear Warchief Hellscream:

I am writing to you on behalf of His Lordship, the honorable Tirion Fordring. In the interests of saving time and paper, I have volunteered to write this note to you in the Highlord’s stead.

The Highlord appreciates the faith you demonstrated in entrusting him with the supervision of Dr. Edwin Faranell. In that same spirit of good faith, the Highlord wishes to make you aware of certain oddities that have recently occurred involving the doctor.

The good doctor has generally been adjusting well to his new life here in Hearthglen, but the past several days he has experienced momentary bouts of disorientation, in which he has become briefly confused as to what is going on around him. Following these episodes, he has claimed to have experienced what would seem to be a kind of hallucination: seeing and hearing events transpiring around him that clearly did not occur.

The Highlord suspects that the doctor is suffering from some sort of mental distress as a result of the radical change his life has undertaken. Lord Fordring is quite concerned about Dr. Faranell’s well-being, and would welcome the opportunity to discuss this turn of events with you further. We have faith that we may yet guide the doctor to a successful acclimation to his current time and place.

–Daria L’Rayne, Argent Crusade

Oh crap, here we go. I’d hoped that Faranell would be able to settle in without any problems, but I guess that was wishful thinking. I can’t say I’m really surprised that he’s kind of shellshocked by the whole thing – I mean, if YOU woke up one morning and all of a sudden it was years later, and half the people you used to know were dead, and the other half were zombies, and whole dominions had risen and fallen, and spirits know how many other things had gone down, yeah, you’d probably have a hard time just walking that off, too. I know I would probably shit a brick.

So, I guess I’m going to need to take a trip over to Eastern Kingdoms again to go see Tirion. I wonder if there’s any way I could get this Daria chick to hold the info session rather than Tirion, though – she seems like she would probably be a lot less painful to talk to, not least of all because I’m pretty sure this letter would have filled up about 37 pages minimum if it were Tirion writing it. Damn good thing he’s got a logging camp right nearby, considering all the paper he probably goes through, is all I’m gonna say.

So, yeah, I’ll have to see about getting that trip lined up. That said, though, seriously, I was just OVER in Eastern Kingdoms like two days ago. Would it really KILL people to time these crises so that I don’t have to go zig-zagging all over the map? So fucking inconsiderate.


That’s all for this week. I’m going to try to be a little more consistent about posting mailbags, so keep those letters and questions coming – first because it’s always good to hear from my loyal readers and minions, second because I’m always happy (well, usually happy…well, sometimes happy…okay, okay, occasionally it doesn’t totally piss me off) to answer your questions, and third because YOUR WARCHIEF DEMANDS IT. Send those letters to me at, and I’ll do another roundup in a couple weeks.


The mad bomber of Zul’Gurub


After I sent up my signal, I waited with Mortimer at the gates of Zul’Gurub. I was able to see roughly which way Tembw’bam was flying – he looked to be keeping at a fairly high altitude and moving toward the far end of the ruins. Probably not heading to any of the central structures, but hard to say for sure.

Krog and Mokvar showed up fairly quickly, and brought some extra support with them – Nimboya from Grom’gol, and one of Nimboya’s Bambala contacts, Kil’karil. (Side note: Kil’karil is like the only troll I’ve ever met who’s made ANY effort at all to get rid of that idiotic accent they all seem to have. I guess the dude worked with a speech coach at some point, because every so often, when he really bears down, he’s actually able to talk like, you know, a normal person. When he’s feeling a lot of stress he tends to lose focus, though, and lapse back to old habits, but hey, at least he’s trying, I suppose.)

Once we were all gathered, we made our way inside. Zul’Gurub is mostly empty these days – after Jin’do tried to do his mojo on ghost-Hakkar and got his ass smacked down by Horde adventurers last year, the rest of the Gurubashi have mostly cleared out. Not sure if they’ve just scattered around Stranglethorn, or taken off to somewhere else, but you only ever see a few stragglers hanging around their old stomping grounds these days. At this point the only residents seem to be – you guessed it – animals.

We split up to make a sweep through the ruins – Mokvar and me (Team Orc!) to the north, Nimboya and Kil’karil (Team Troll!) to the south, and Krog (Team Sneaky Bugger!) stealthing around doing his roguey recon thing.

As we were passing by Bethekk’s old temple, Mokvar and I ran into a bunch of panthers, most of which were rocking a couple pieces of leather or mail gear. Nothing we couldn’t handle, between me bladestorming and Mokvar throwing down an earthquake or two. While we were fighting them off, though, we spotted our old friend again – Tembw’bam was swooping on by, into the temple. Once we’d finished off the panthers, we went in after him, but tried to stay quiet so we could maybe see what he was up to.

The temple was mostly empty as far as signs of life were concerned – unless you count about a zillion rats (not equipped with knives and helmets this time, mercifully) – but as far as signs of death? Total overstock. There were skeletons scattered around the place, with weapons and armor scattered around the bones. It looked like a whole bunch of somebodies managed to die on their way through this place once upon a time, and their old gear was left behind as a memento.

Eventually, we made our way to the inner chamber, where Arlokk, and later Kilnara, had set up shop until they were defeated. Now the room just serves as the innermost pile of skeletons and gear in the building. We snuck in as quietly as we could, and peeked in. Sure enough, our boy Tembw’bam was bouncing around, stuffing gear into bags like some kind of backwards hyperactive Greatfather Winter. (I STILL want to know how he managed to load that much shit into a backpack, by the way.) Still yammering on and on to himself, by the way, something along the lines of…actually, you know what, fucking Mokvar was there. See for yourself:


Tembw’bam runs erratically around the chamber, shoving gear into a number of bags.

TEMBW’BAM: …that’s what ya gotta do, mon, ya gotta keep the line movin’, mon! Hah! HahahaHAH! And so he says to me, he says, ya wanna be a hero? And I say, YAH MON! It gonna be bad! Bad, mon  So bad it good, mon! HAHA! I be makin’ da gravy wit’out da lumps, mon! HAHAHAH!

He picks up a warhammer and swings it around awkwardly, almost falling over multiple times.

TEMBW’BAM: Swing an’ miss, mon! Turn of da screw! It’s da bottom of da ninth an’ da dog an’ pony be showin’ da ropes, mon! HAHAHAHAH!

He shifts into cat form and leaps across the room, then starts shoveling gear into a nearby satchel with both paws.

TEMBW’BAM: So he says ta me, he says ta me, you got style, mon! But you gotta get a plan! You need a plan, mon! And I says, I go, YAH MON, a plan, dat’s it! Tembw’bam gonna arm me army! Arm me army, arm me army arm me army armmearmy armarmymarmy army army ARM ’DEM MON! And kill all da two-legs! YAH, MON, YAH! HAHAHAHA!

MOKVAR: <aside to Garrosh> Wow, you weren’t kidding about this guy.

GARROSH: No shit, right?

Tembw’bam perks a cat ear and looks back at the doorway, spotting Garrosh and Mokvar.

MOKVAR: Uh oh.


Everyone stares at each other for several seconds. Tembw’bam turns back into a troll.

TEMBW’BAM: Oh. Um. <long pause while he looks around nervously> Um…hhhhhhhhhhey, mon.


MOKVAR: Uh, hey?

GARROSH: So. About this whole deal here with the bags.

Tembw’bam starts pushing random gear around the floor with his feet.

TEMBW’BAM: Oh, dat, mon? Oh, ya know, I just be tryin’ ta neaten up in here, it be all messy, ya know, just an eyesore when it be such a nice place when ya keep it nice…an’…uh…an’…AN’ HE SAYS, EVIL BE OKAY IN MY BOOK, MON, HOW ’BOUT YOURS? An’ I go, I says, YAH MON YAH! YAH!

Tembw’bam suddenly shapeshifts into cat form and pounces Garrosh, knocking him to the floor.

GARROSH: Fucking hell—!

TEMBW’BAM: Dead mon walkin’, mon! Dead mon on da trapeze! AN OBJECT AT REST CANNOT BE STOPPED, MON!

Tembw’bam dashes past Garrosh and Mokvar through the doorway and runs up the stairs.

GARROSH: Seriously, would it kill you to put the pen down when shit like that starts happening to me?


So yeah, can you believe that shit?

We ran upstairs as fast as we could, but I’m guessing he must have stealthed once he got outside. Mokvar and I started making our way further east, then south, and tried to check around as many corners as we could on the way.

After we’d cleared out a bunch of random wandering snakes (which were wearing plate chest pieces, which, y’know, ONE DOES WHEN ONE IS A SNAKE), we passed by what’s left of High Priest Thekal’s old area. It’s mostly destroyed and collapsed in on itself since the Cataclysm, just heaps of stone and fallen walls, but I thought I heard something in there, so we stopped to have a look-see. When we got closer, I thought the noises were coming from behind some of the rubble, so I yanked a few of the stone blocks out of the way. (YES I can just toss stone blocks around like that, pansies – that’s what fucking happens when you actually know what the inside of the gym looks like.) Turns out, there was a fucking TIGER back there! Only I guess the thing was trapped, who knows for how long, so it wasn’t really hostile, just eager to get the hell out of there.

Funny thing is, once it was free, the tiger didn’t seem too interested in outright leaving – it just sort of stayed close by and followed me around for a while. I guess maybe it was grateful that I’d gotten it free or something? Eventually from the way the tiger kept leaning down when it was close, I took a guess that it was trying to offer to let me ride on its back. Which, okay, that’s all kinds of cool. Don’t get me wrong – Mortimer is awesome and all, but riding around on a tiger is pretty damn badass. Mokvar whined a little about not getting to ride it too, but hey, I don’t share rides that way with other dudes, and plus, he’s got his damn wolf form or whatever. What’s up with shaman who can’t seem to remember they can do that, anyway?

Anyhow, we took off from Thekal’s corner and started heading south. Near the path leading up to Bloodlord Mandokir’s old digs, we found Nimboya and Kil’karil fighting off a bunch of raptors…which were wearing leather bomber helmets. Yeah. Meanwhile, everybody’s favorite nutjob druid was swooping around swiping at our guys while they were busy dealing with the raptors. When he saw us coming in to join the fight, though, he was smart enough to figure he’d better make himself scarce, and flew up out of our reach.

There was a large troll temple overlooking the path we were on, built into the surrounding hills. While we got the raptors under control, Tembw’bam flew up to the temple and disappeared through an arch for a minute, then came flying back out – and started flinging saronite bombs down at us, doing his patented ranting all the while…


TEMBW’BAM: An’ so he says, I don’t like the cut o’ ya jib! And I says, I go, it’s da only jib I got, mon! HAHAHAHAHA!

Garrosh, Mokvar, Nimboya, and Kil’karil scatter, trying to avoid the falling bombs.

KIL’KARIL: What be dis guy’s problem, mon?!

GARROSH: <smacking a bomb away with Gorehowl, only to have it detonate just in front of him and knock him back> Including or in addition to being totally fucking nuts?

TEMBW’BAM: <swooping over, dropping more bombs> Yah! Boom, mon, boom! Eat saronite, two-legs! HAHAHA!

GARROSH: Dude, what fucking species do you think YOU are?

MOKVAR: Arguing with the crazy guy might not be the best plan.

GARROSH: How about you come talk to me about tactical options after you put the fucking notebook away?

Tembw’bam starts to circle around to make another bombing swoop, when Mortimer flies in and collides with him, knocking him back and causing him to drop his remaining bombs into one of the nearby walls. Tembw’bam hits the ground hard, then pulls himself up to his feet as a troll.

GARROSH: Okay, now we’re in business!

MOKVAR: You really need to give that wyvern a raise at some point.

Tembw’bam casts Hibernate on Mortimer, putting him to sleep in mid-air and causing him to crash to the ground. Garrosh charges at Tembw’bam, who casts Typhoon and knocks him back into the rest of the group.

TEMBW’BAM: Ha! Haha! HAHAHA! For every action, dere be an equal an’ opposite stitch in time, mon! HAHA! An’ so I says ta him, tell me I be wrong, an’ he says, he goes, I can’t, mon, ’cause you’re n—

Tembw’bam’s ranting is interrupted when Krog unstealths behind him and stun-locks him.

KROG: Oh. Shut. Up, laughing boy.

GARROSH: Oh thank goodness.

KIL’KARIL: Well he truly is a piece of work, now isn’t he?

MOKVAR: Hang on, what’s up with your voice, Kil?

KIL’KARIL: What about my voice? I haven’t a notion what you mean.

NIMBOYA: Don’ try to get into it wit’ him, mon.

GARROSH: <sprinting back over to Tembw’bam> Okay, so finally…

Tembw’bam breaks out of Krog’s stun, shapeshifts into bear form, and bashes Krog. He immediately shifts to cat form and tries to leap away, but is intercepted by Garrosh, who grabs him tightly by the scruff of his neck.

GARROSH: <holding Tembw’bam at arm’s length while he flails around futilely> Not so fast there, batshit.

TEMBW’BAM: You’ll never prove a t’ing, mon! I’m just a part-time herbalist! I— I— I…

KROG: Uh, we’ve got like a room full of witnesses who saw—


MOKVAR: Again, arguing with the insane? Not really worth it.


So, we finally managed to get that fucker under wraps. By this point, Mortimer was back up and about – he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him when he crash landed, but he wasn’t any worse for wear other than a few bruises – so he and I flew up to that temple that Tembw’bam was zipping in and out of. Inside, there were frigging MOUNTAINS of gear, and bags scattered all around the place. Pretty much any kind of weapon or armor you could think of, most of it showing some wear and tear but still plenty usable.

We made another sweep around Zul’Gurub, but only found a handful of other geared-up animals. There were a few other areas where there was a pretty large amount of gear laying around on the ground among skeletons, especially up on top of the Altar of the Blood God, where Jin’do was trying to do his thing on Hakkar. I’m thinking Tembw’bam may have been flying around in here gathering up all the equipment that had been dropped by adventurers who’d come into ZG and gotten their asses killed. Granted, given the quality of some of this crap, I can see why they didn’t have a whole lot of success, but still. Who knows how many places he’d been doing this in.

I’m having Tembw’bam ferried off to – let’s just say – a secure place to be held and kept out of trouble. Meanwhile, I’m on my way back to Orgrimmar, where all of a sudden I’ve got to find some more stable space for the tiger. Maybe in a pen next to the camel. We’ll see.


Trails in the wilderness


Out in the middle of the Stranglethorn jungle, a ways north of Grom’gol, there’s a hill where a big chunk of zeppelin wreckage is jammed into what’s left of a tree. It’s been there for years – I guess at some point before the Horde had established settlements here, a goblin zeppelin crashed somewhere in the jungle. The chunk of wreckage stuck in the tree is all that’s left of it.

(By the by, is it my imagination, or do these goblin airships seem to crash an awful lot? How exactly did these flotatation-device-needing motherfuckers manage to land their zeppelin-service lifetime contract with Thrall?)

When Nimboya’s contacts in Bambala turned up in the form of that hunting party, they brought some news with them from that spot in the jungle. Seems that in the last day or two, some large piece of burlap has been flapping in the breeze from the wreckage, and loads of random pieces of armor have been turning up – both on some of the animals in the area, and laying around on the ground near the wreckage. Since that sounded familiar enough, I headed over to see if there was anything else that could lead us to that Tembw’bam fucker that the DEHTA hippies were talking about.

Hoo boy, was there. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I got there, sure enough, there were helmets and gauntlets scattered all around the place, along with a few stray swords and axes. Tattered cloth caught in the wreckage up above looked to be the remains of a standard frostweave bag. My best guess is that our boy was flying by with some bags full of armor and weapons, got one of the bags caught on the wreckage, tore it, out spills that bunch of his junk, and off he goes. Now, as for how the fucker managed to cram two swords, a couple axes, five helmets, some mail leggings, four pairs of boots, and a dozen gauntlets into a backpack…well, don’t ask me to explain the physics there. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve wondered that about someone, to be honest.

So I was scouting around the tree on the hill, looking through some of the gear that had dropped and trying to see if I could take a guess at which way the dude had been going, when lo and behold, a druid in flight form comes zipping over and tries to grab up some of the stuff in his talons. Of course I started off trying to reason with him. By which I mean drawing Gorehowl and showing him the reason why this whole shebang was a bad idea on his part. Or, well, tried too, because he was a dodgey son of a bitch. Fucking bird. He kept zipping around in the air, and smacked me a couple times with one of the gauntlets he was carrying, then turned into a cat and pounced on me, then he did some shit as a bear, then he was a cat again, then a bird, and more zipping around, and OMG fucking druids.

So yeah, that was annoying and all, but here’s the fucked-up part. While I was trying to smack him down, he was going on and on monologuing – only he wasn’t monologuing at ME. Dude just kept yammering on to himself, or to the other voice in his head, or whoever the fuck it was he thought he was talking to who wasn’t me. But he sure as fuck thought he was having a conversation with somebody, ranting and yelling and finding every single thing around him absolutely fucking hilarious to boot. And agreeing with himself a lot.

The one thing that came out of all the yammering was that I was able to confirm that the flappy fucker was who I thought he was – our prime suspect Tembw’bam. Seeing as he addressed himself by name like two or three times. The down side was that after we spent a few minutes mixing it up, he must have realized that it wasn’t happening – either that or the voice in his head remembered it had a meeting with Greatfather Winter and the Noblegarden Bunny – and he flew off. I hopped on Mortimer and took off after him, but he had already gotten a pretty good head start at that point, so I wasn’t able to catch up with him. I did see where he went off to, though. Last I saw him, he was flying into the ruins of Zul’Gurub.

I’m at the entrance to the ruins now, and just fired off a flare to get the rest of the crew down here. It shouldn’t take them long to arrive, and at that point we can head in and see what Captain Double-Speak is up to.


Welcome to the jungle


We’ve spent a good solid day investigating in Stranglethorn Vale, without a whole lot to show for it. On the way down, I arranged to have Mokvar and Krog take the zeppelin down with me. Figured it would help to bring a record-keeper, plus a trained investigator who can do a little stealthing around.

Based on the conversations I had with the DEHTA people – or, well, what I remember of them – our most likely suspect in the animal-arming weirdness is a troll named Tembw’bam, who used to hang with the DEHTA guys until he decided they weren’t hardcore enough for him over the whole animal rights thing. Yes, you read that right. According to what they tell me, this Tembw’bam dude went so crazy living in his animal forms that he basically renounced being a humanoid. Like he looked at the animals, and looked at the other people, and went over to the animals like “Fuck that shit, I’m with you guys.” Which to be fair, I don’t know if I can blame him, depending on the people he had surrounding him. I mean, lock me in a room with Dontrag and Utvoch for a few days and self-identifying as a meerkat might start to sound pretty good to me, too.

Anyway, once we arrived here, Commander Aggro’gosh put some of his scouts at our disposal, and we started sending out search parties led by me, Mokvar, and Krog. I even stopped by the Nesingwary base camp with my group to check in, although I have to say, it’s kind of disappointing dropping by there. I mean, I hear the camp is spruced up a lot now compared to what it was like back in the day, but here’s the thing. As much as the facilities might be better, it just isn’t what you’d call a no-kidding-around on-top-of-shit hunter’s camp. Look, I’ve met Hemet Nesingwary. I went hunting with him a few times back in Nagrand. THAT dude is the real deal as far as big game hunting goes. His kid, Hemet Jr.? Total slacker. You can tell his heart’s not really in it – he’d really rather be focusing on his music, or some shit like that – and it shows. But you know how it goes. The boss takes off and leaves his son in charge of the company, nobody can say anything because, hey, it’s the boss’ fucking kid, but the kid doesn’t really know the business well enough to ride the staff the way the old man would, and so everything gets lax and sloppy. Fucking legacy kids.

I tried talking to Hemet Jr. some, but between him and the other hunters at the camp, the best I could get was confirmation of there being a lot of animals turning up with weapons and armor on them. Tigers especially lately, for whatever reason. That might just be because there’s a decent tiger population near the camp, or maybe because there’s more to it, who knows – and by the way, can I just say again? Hemet SR. would have been able to put some tracking on that shit and get an idea of what’s what. No such luck with HJ.

We’ll keep at it a little longer, and hopefully something will turn up. While we were making the rounds, Nimboya sent word to some of his people over in Bambala, and we just had a troll hunting party stop by the base here, so maybe we’ll get a lead there. More soon.


Calling freelance snapshotters


I’m taking a day here in Orgrimmar to rest up a bit before I follow up on the lead I’d gotten on the nutjob ex-DEHTA guy. Also lining up a few support people to bring with me to Stranglethorn Vale. While I’m here, I figured I’d tend to a few odds and ends for the blog.

So, first and foremost – those of you who are regular readers have probably noticed that over the last week or so, I’ve been adding pictures into my posts at a regular clip. (And those of you who are NOT regular readers – WHY THE HELL NOT? DO NOT CURRY THE WRATH OF YOUR WARCHIEF, PEON.) Strictly speaking, it hasn’t been me doing it – Spazzle mentioned that it might be nice to put some pictures into the blog, break up the walls of text (if only someone could make pictures come out of Tirion’s mouth when he gets rolling, amirite?), that sort of thing. I took that as him volunteering for the job, and told him to get to work.

The posts have been looking nice enough with the added illustrations that I’d kind of like to work a few into the earlier posts too. But, fact of that matter is, Spazzle doesn’t have what you’d call an extensive picture gallery, and for some reason the lazy fucker doesn’t seem too thrilled at the idea of spending the next few weeks flying all around Azeroth collecting more.

So, here’s where I turn to you, MY LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS. Here’s your chance to BECOME A PART of the blog you love so dearly! Okay, granted, a much less awesome part than I am, but still, a pretty legit part! So here it is. Have some pictures from your travels that you think would go well with your favorite post here on the Command Board? Well, consider this my official call for submissions. Send your images to me at, along with an indication of which post you have in mind for it. If it looks like a good fit to me, I’ll have Spazzle hook it up.

I’ll credit the image to you on the edited post, including a link to your own blog or web site if you have one and, you know, it’s not part of some sketchy scam to spread keyloggers or something. DON’T THINK I WON’T HAVE MY PEOPLE CHECK ON THAT SHIT. Once the updated post goes live, I’ll make an announcement on Twitter, and I’ll probably also do a mini-post here every so often pointing out which older posts have had some nice shiny eye candy added to them.

Spazzle tells me that ideally, your images should be large enough and high enough resolution that they can be cropped or edited and still look reasonably good. He’s generally going for letterbox-ish dimensions, so if your images lend themselves to that, all the better. Whatever any of that shit means.

There might also be a few minor odds and ends about layout and formatting and such, but I’ll deal with people individually as it becomes necessary. Or rather, I’ll have Spazzle deal with them, because I have more important things to do with my time. Like, you know, figure out why there are armies of woodchucks running around with nunchaku.

Speaking of which, I need to go pack. Stranglethorn awaits.


Tangerine trees and marmalade skies


So…didn’t get around to posting when I got back in yesterday. I wound up sleeping in late here at Warsong Hold, and I’m actually a little fuzzy as far as what happened after my last post from the DEHTA camp.

Mokvar was supposed to come meet me here in Northrend, but he wound up getting held up by some business back in Orgrimmar. Luckily, Saurfang had his own in-house scribe on hand to keep a record. See for yourself.


Scene: High Overlord’s Command Room, Warsong Hold

[High Overlord SAURFANG paces back and forth, dictating to ADELENE SUNLACE, Inscription Trainer and personal scribe.]


…and so, Chieftain Icemist, with the Scourge thwarted and the Nerubian threat contained, I believe the time is right for us to begin the long-overdue work of reclaiming the lost settlements of your taunka brethren and securing them under the banner of the Horde. I look forward to our continued correspondence. Honor go with us all—


[From outside.]

High Overlord!



Make way, mon! We be coming’ t’rough!

[Enter OVERLORD RAZGOR, Executive Officer of Warsong Hold, and WIND MASTER TO’BOR, propping up a staggering WARCHIEF GARROSH HELLSCREAM between them. The Warchief’s personal wyvern wanders in behind them.]


HA! Oh man, watch that last step, it’s a bitch! HAHA!


Warchief! Men, what’s happening here?


Da Warchief came flyin’ in on his wyvern, sir, an’ done come down unsteady on the landin’ platform. He tumbled right offa da wyvern an’ stumbled over to da wall, an’ fell right over da edge, mon!


I saw him come in from the ground, High Overlord. The Warchief would have been badly hurt at the least, if the wyvern hadn’t swooped down and broken his fall.


Thank the spirits for that much. Are you all right, Warchief?

[Garrosh peers back at the High Overlord quizzically for a long moment, then breaks into a wide grin.]


You’re like, all pruney and shit, you know that, Saurfang? HAHAHA!


Well, he appears to be in good spirits, at the very least.


Yes, sir.


His eyes be lookin’ all bloodshot, dough, sir. Mon.


So I noticed. I believe you men can release him, in any case.

[Razgor and To’bor release their grips on Garrosh, who stumbles forward, looks around, then starts to teeter to either side with his arms flailing around at his sides.]


Whoa, hold on!



[They catch Garrosh again and steady him, then carefully let him go again. The wyvern walks up close to Garrosh and leans against him lightly on one side.]


To’bor, if you would, why don’t you escort the Warchief’s animal to the stables.


Yessir. Mon.

[To’bor grasps the wyvern’s harness and tries to pull it toward the side hall. The wyvern doesn’t budge, and after several tugs of increasing force from To’bor, it snarls at To’bor and snaps at him, forcing him to jump back.]


Okay den, now we jus’ got to show da wyvern who da boss here!

[To’bor grabs at the wyvern by the scruff of its neck and tries to pull it toward the floor. As he does so, the wyvern spins its body in the opposite direction, yanking him over it; while he is disoriented, the wyvern grabs the hood of his cloak in its teeth, flings him onto the floor on his back, and pins him in place with one paw pressed firmly on his chest.]


HAH! That’s awesome! That’s it, Mortimer, show ’im who’s the alpha up in his bitch! Hahahaheeeeee… [Snorts.]

[To’bor struggles to get out from under the wyvern’s paw without much success.]


So, then…Warchief…since you are…well…


Varok, buddy, I’m fuckin’ fantastic. [Chuckles uncontrollably.]


Yes, I see…


[Continuously laughing while talking.]

Va-rok, Vaaaa-rok…hey, do people ever call you Rokky? Haha…because they totally should! You look like you could be a Rokky, dude.



Warchief, listen to me very carefully. While you were at the D.E.H.T.A. camp, did anyone, by chance, offer you a brownie?


Haha, dude, who DIDN’T offer me a brownie? And, and let me tell you, Rokky… Heh…heh HA… Um… Yeah, so. So those salads they got there are shit, but dude the fuckin’ brownies are AMAZING. I… I think I had… um… [He holds both hands in front of his face, and moves fingers on both hands as if counting silently.] Um, yeah, a LOT! Hahah!


Oh dear.


I coulda been tellin’ you dat, mon.


Oh and DUDE, lemme tell you, those things are fuckin’ scumptious. [He blinks.] Um. Scumptious? No…scruntious. Scuntious.. Sc-rrrrrunnnn-tious. DAMMIT! Scummmmm-ptious… UGH! Dammit my tongue won’t say it right!


Suffice to say they were flavorful, and we move on, shall we, Warchief?


NO, fuck that shit, I’m not going to let my stupid uncooperative tongue beat me! Scuntious! DAMMIT! Scruntious—FUCK, almost! Scumptious! Scumptious! Scruntious! SCUNTIOUS! DAMMIT DEFIANT TONGUE!

[Garrosh brings both hands to his face and starts poking around his mouth angrily, eventually pinching his tongue between the fingers of one hand and holding it at full extension. With his other hand, he hurriedly reaches behind him and draws Gorehowl.]




What you be doin’, mon?!




Hold him, men!

[Saurfang and Razgor, aided by the wyvern holding the back of Garrosh’s belt in its teeth, grapple with the Warchief and eventually manage to get Gorehowl away from him. To’bor tries to get up to offer his aid as well, but the wyvern thwarts his every attempt to rise by flattening him against the floor again emphatically.]


Dis be a strong wyvern ya got here, mon…


Now then…Warchief …did your visit to the D.E.H.T.A. camp elucidate the current conundrum?


What the who?


Did…you learn anything?




Ah, good. What news, then?


Have you been over there before?


I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, no, Warchief.


Okay, so check it… [He stumbles shakily to Saurfang, puts one arm around his shoulder, and leans in close, then pokes at Saurfang’s chest with one finger every few words.] Okay. So. No matter…how sick you get of the salads… [He nods seriously a few times, then stares at Saurfang for several seconds.] What was I saying?



[Garrosh continues his even stare for several seconds more, then looks around.]


That would be you, sir.


What? OH YEAH, fuck, it is, right? HAHAHA, I’m Warchief – RECOGNIZE, bitches!




[Still pinned down by the wyvern.]

For da Horde!

[Saurfang glares at them impatiently and, behind Garrosh’s back, waves at them with one hand to stop.]


So, Warchief… You were…starting to say about the D.E.H.T.A. camp? And…something about… [He sighs briefly.] …salads?


[His eyes go wide in recognition, and he resumes poking at Saurfang’s chest rapidly and energetically.]

OH YEAH! Fuckin’ hell yeah! SO! So, so, so, um… No matter how sick you get of the salads… If they offer you a burger… [His eyes widen as his face turns very serious.] DON’T.

[Saurfang watches him for a moment, purses his lips, then finally speaks.]


Warchief…did they know anything pertaining to the problem of the armed animals across the various zones?


HOLY SHIT THEY DID, HOW DID YOU KNOW?! [Stares wide-eyed a moment, then starts laughing hysterically.]


And…sir…what did they tell you?


Okay, okay, so. SO. They were talking ’bout this…nutjob druid who was nutjobby even for them, right? Like this guy was such a big animal lover, he didn’t even like shifting out of his animal forms, you know?


Yes, sir…


Like…like… LIKE A BEAR! RAAAARRR!!! HahahahahaHA! Rar.


Yes, sir.


Hahahahahahaaaa… Like a bear! RAR!


[Rubs his forehead.]

Yes, sir. Like a bear.

[Garrosh leans against Saurfang, putting his face on the High Overlord’s shoulder, and laughing hysterically for a few moments.]


Warchief…please try to focus. Was there anything else?

[Garrosh straightens up suddenly, and teeters for a moment. Razgor runs over close in anticipation of the Warchief falling over backwards.]


OOPS! Haha! Um, yeah, okay. SO. Um… So yeah, I’ve got a name to check up on, and one of them, the birdy lady what’s-her-face, um, she said the guy used to talk a lot about Stranglethorn Vale, and plus…um…yeah, what with him being a troll, he might be wandering around in the jungle there.


Well, that’s a promising lead at least, Warchief.


Right you are, Rokky! HAHA! Vaaaa-rok! Varok Varok Varok! OH HEY! There once was a warrior named Varok!


Here we go, mon…


Who passed on all servings of hamhock!


True, I do not eat pork.


Is that a religious thing?


No, I just don’t dig on swine, that’s all.


Now I won’t deceive you —
He’ll pummel and cleave you,
And leave your sad ass really shellshocked.

[Garrosh throws both hands into the air as he yells “EPIC VERSE!!!” When he finishes the roar, he loses his balance and spills flat onto the floor, face-down.]


Warchief! Are you all right?


[Slightly muffled from his face being on the floor.]

You know, this map on the floor looks fucking HUGE from down here! HAHA! [Punches the floor a few times while laughing.] You know what you need down here? One of those big fur rugs. Like…LIKE A BEAR! HAHAHA!


Yes, sir…


Like a bear.


Rar, mon.


What was that, anyway, Warchief?


What do you mean, what was that? That was EPIC VERSE! HAHAHA!


I’m not sure I understand…


Do you not read the blog?


I rarely ever use that infernal machine.


Oh oh oh oh OH DUDE, you should totally get on the computer more, I could totally hook you up on Earth Online!


Should I know what that is?


It’s this thing on the internet.


Yeah, dude, it’s a really cool game.




Yeah, a computer game!


And…you play this game, sir?


Hell yeah! I’m totally gonna sent you a RAF link after this. HAH that sounds funny — RAAAAAF hahaha…


Warchief…you’re thirty-four years old.


RAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFF… HAHAHAA… [Slapping his hands randomly on the floor while he laughs.]


Come now, Warchief.

[Saurfang and Razgor help Garrosh back to his feet. As they lift him, Garrosh points to a spot on the floor and bursts out laughing again.]


Hey Saurfang! Hey! Check it, see that spot right there? That’s…hehehe…that’s the EXACT. SPOT. Where you told me that time…haha… where you told me you’d kill me before you let me lead the Horde to ruin!

[Garrosh leans against Saurfang, laughing hysterically while draping one arm each over Saurfang and Razgor, letting them hold him up. As his laughter grows weaker, he pulls them closer to him on either side.]



I fuckin’ love you guys!



I’m sure Thrall had his reasons…


So, yeah. Maybe not the proudest day for me, but whatever. At least we’ve got a lead and can see about tracking down this loose cannon druid guy. Not sure what’s up with Saurfang’s scribe funky-ass formatting, but I guess not everybody’s going to do things Mokvar-style. If it works for Saurfang, fine.

I’ll be heading back to Orgrimmar. First, though, I need to see what they’ve got to eat around here. I’m fucking STARVING, dude. Not to mention, my sides are fucking killing me.



“Kids these days and their felweed…”


If they get out a hacky sack, I’m going home


So after what Hamuul and Antlers were saying about the critters in Mulgore maybe getting their weapons from a druid in animal form, I got to thinking. If there’s a druid responsible for this, it’s probably not one of the Cenarion people, seeing as Hamuul usually stays on top of shit better than that, and it’s probably not one of Antlers’ Guardian types up in Hyjal, unless Ysera is really falling asleep on the job. (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?) So that rules out most of your typical mainstream druids. If a druid is behind this, it’s got to be somebody from the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe. And when you’re talking about the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe, it doesn’t get any fringier than DEHTA.

So, guess where I’m writing from, through the wonders of wireless internet. That’s right – right this very minute I’m up in the Borean Tundra, paying the DEHTA fuckers a visit. I’m at their camp right now, mostly trying to figure out what the weird herbal smell around here is.

I was hoping I would get to talk to Lather-on-us – ever since he got it into his demented head that I’d gone vegetarian (HA!), he’s been at least vaguely bearable to deal with. But, come to find out, he was off working on something away from the camp when I got here. Nobody seems too clear on when he’s going to be back, so I guess I’m just going to have to make due with the other DEHTA people for now.

Thing is, sad as this will sound, Lather-on-us is probably the most stable one of the bunch. With him gone, check out the crew I’ve got to deal with.

You’ve got Hierophant Cenius, who’s more or less running the store with the big guy away, and can’t seem to get through a sentence without saying “you dig, man?” and snapping her fingers like 53 times.

Then you’ve got…well…I don’t even know what his real name is, but he sits around all day wearing this retarded murloc getup, and only answers to “King Mrgl-Mrgl.” I guess he’s actually a night elf, and had been sent to watch the Winterfin murlocs up north, only the murlocs embraced him and made him king and then he went native or some shit. Then, the last time I was up here, Mortimer helped himself to a murloc buffet and pretty much wiped out this guy’s constituency, so now he’s back here at the camp without much to do. Other than make retarded gargling sounds.

There’s Zaza, a frost nymph, which I’m not going to mess around with at all after the other day because NYMPHS BE CRAZY.

And then you’ve got Killinger the Den Watcher, or as I like to call him Killinger the Obsessive-Compulsive, who doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to shift out of bear form, and more importantly, doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to use soap, because holy shit, seriously. Honest to fuck, dude, the patchouli oil isn’t fooling anyone. Now I know what you’re thinking on this one – druid stuck in animal form, maybe this is our guy. I was thinking that too, only that brings us to our next item, the whole obsessive-compulsive thing. Dude just keeps walking in a circle around the middle of the camp, counting to himself out loud. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,” on and on and on. Just in the time I’ve been here he’s gotten up to 3219.

At one point when he rolled over 2000, I decided to mess with him, and started yelling random numbers. He got all spastic for a second, then walked back to this one spot in the camp, nodded his head three times, then started circling the same old path while counting off “one thousands” again. I waited for him to crack 1000 and started doing the random numbers again. Same deal – walked back to the exact same spot, three nods, went back to circling, “one one thousand, two one thousand.” I am willing to roll the dice on this guy not being our diabolical mastermind.

So this is Lather-on-us’ braintrust. Hard to believe Hemet Nesingwary is still up and kicking, isn’t it?

Anyway, I’ve been hanging around here for a while now, trying to choke down a salad that doesn’t even have the common decency to have bacon bits on it. The DEHTA fuckers have been friendly enough mostly, but it’s hard as hell to keep them on topic, and then when I get irritated and try to respectfully suggest that they could maybe try pulling their heads out of their fucking asses for like two minutes, they start calling me “Herbert” over and over, whatever that means, and then chuckle like morons. All I’ve been able to get out of them so far is that they don’t seem to know anything about animals being armed, but a few months ago there used to be some new guy hanging out with them, a troll named Tembw’bam, who was all about animal liberation and fighting The (hu)Man(oids), and “any means necessary,” and eventually he got them all going “Whew, this guy’s crazy,” and they sent him on his way. Which, seriously, when the fucking DEHTA people think you’re a nutjob?  Time to say “check please” to life, dude.

They’re not sure what happened to him, though. They think one of their other people, Hierophant Liandra, might remember a little more, but she’s out patrolling for trappers right now. They think she should be back soon, so I’m going to hang around the camp here for a little longer, or at least until I get too sick of these people to keep it up. Thank goodness for the internet, is all I’m going to say. You peeps on Twitter? You know who you are – right now you are single-handedly keeping my sanity. Because what the holy FUCK is a tofu burger? Ffs.


Attack of the petting zoo


Okay, so we’ve established that something fishy is going on with these gear-toting animals, pretty much all over the place. Since I brought up the issue earlier in the week, I’ve been getting reports flooding in from all quarters about animals carrying weapons and armor. And then, a couple days ago, I had my bizarre and disturbing trip to the plateau in Mulgore where a zillion and one critters and zipping around with knives and helmets and…I don’t know, at this point I’m surprised they don’t have fucking rocket launchers or something.

I don’t much like the way this is going right within view of Thunder Bluff. I also figured that with so much crazy-ass stuff going on with animals, it might be a good idea to check in with our own resident nature-boys, the druids. So, I decided to kill two birds with one stone (and hope the metaphorical birds weren’t carrying, you know, metaphorical explosives armed with metaphorical dead-man’s switches) and bring this business to the attention of Thunder Bluff’s very own head-honcho druid, Hamuul Runetotem.

Hamuul was as disturbed by all of this as I was, and decided he wanted to check on things personally. We flew over to the Critter Plateau of WTF earlier today, and seeing as this seemed like one of those “let’s keep a record of shit” occasions, I sent word to Orgrimmar for Mokvar to fly over and meet us there.

Apparently, before he left, Mokvar and the messenger I’d sent had a few go-rounds of “Why does Garrosh want me to fly out there again?”, “No, really,” “Seriously, what’s the actual reason?”, and so on.

Gotta be honest. I don’t blame you one bit, Mokvar.


Hamuul Runetotem rejoins Garrosh and Mokvar after circling around the plateau in flight form.

GARROSH: So, what’s the verdict, Hamuul?

HAMUUL: Very peculiar…

GARROSH: Wow, peculiar. I’m glad I brought you in on this. Keen insight right there, dude.

HAMUUL: Clearly someone is tampering with the conduct of these creatures, though I’m at a loss to speculate as to who.

GARROSH: Well, yeah, obviously they didn’t smith this stuff up themselves.

HAMUUL: Indeed.

GARROSH: So any other bright ideas about… <looks up> Hold up…

A brown and violet eagle flies up to the group and shapeshifts into Malfurion Stormrage.

GARROSH: Wait – the hell?

HAMUUL: Greetings, Shan’do.

MALFURION: A pleasure as always, Hamuul.

GARROSH: What is HE doing here?

HAMUUL: I took the liberty of bringing this matter to the attention of certain allies.

GARROSH: Uh, yeah, LITERALLY Allies.

MALFURION: <nods to Garrosh> Warchief.

GARROSH: <nods back> Antlers.

HAMUUL: It would be a courtesy to address him by his actual name.

GARROSH: Meh, Malfunction Stormface, Antlers McBeardyface, po-tay-to, po-tah-to, boo hoo.

HAMUUL: <to Malfurion> Probably the best we’re going to get.

MALFURION: Good enough.

GARROSH: Okay, so now that we’re all buddies and shit, do I get to find out why we’ve got one of the night elf leaders rolling on through Horde territory like it’s something to do?

HAMUUL: I thought Master Stormrage might be of some aid in determining the cause of these unnatural developments.

MALFURION: I can be on my way just as easily if you prefer.

GARROSH: Yeah, whatever, fine, I’ll cut you some slack what with the whole Ragnaros thing. I suppose you might have a good read on some of these animals, what with…you know…you practically being one and all.

MALFURION: I’m a druid. We all take on animal forms.

GARROSH: Yeah, right I get that. But… <gestures toward the feathered wings on Malfurion’s arms and the bear paws he has for feet> …you know…

MALFURION: <sighs> All right, one last time…

HAMUUL: You don’t have to.

MALFURION: No, it’s fine. I get this all the time.

HAMUUL: If you wish.

MALFURION: As a result of the years my spirit dwelled within the Emerald Dream, I gradually took on the attributes of many of the creatures whose forms we druids assume.

GARROSH: Yeah, but…dude, you’ve got paws.

MALFURION: Yes, and?

GARROSH: That doesn’t weird people out a little? I mean, okay, I don’t really know how you night elves roll, other than, y’know, how you roll over dead after you get chopped up a little, but…

MOKVAR: Sadly, this really is him on his good behavior.

GARROSH: I’m serious! Don’t you get sick of the “get your paws off me” jokes at home or whatever?

MALFURION: <rolling eyes> I’ll have you know, if anything, Tyrande really seems to go for—

HAMUULHush, Malfurion!


GARROSH: HAH! Did you just shush him? Because that’s kind of awesome.

HAMUUL: <sighs> The point. Being. Master Stormrage kindly offered his aid in determining what has been happening with these animals…

GARROSH: Yeah, fine, whatever. Let him help. Are we going to have any more special guests showing up that I need to be warned about?

A giddy squeal can be heard in the distance, followed by the voice of…

MYLUNE: Oh look at all the adorable bunnies!

HAMUUL: Actually…

GARROSH: You…didn’t.

Mylune prances past the others, excitedly racing after random rabbits and prairie dogs.

MYLUNE: They’re just so cute and warm and soft and snuggly and squee!

GARROSH: After last time? Really?

MALFURION: In Hamuul’s defense, she just happened by when he was explaining the situation to me.

HAMUUL: She heard “rabbits and prairie dogs,” and, well, that was pretty much that.

GARROSH: Okay, fine, let her do her thing. Maybe she’ll fall down a rabbit hole or something. In the meantime…

MYLUNE: Oooh and cute little prairie dogs too! Yay!

GARROSH: …um…any other insights on what’s going on up here?

MALFURION: Obviously the creatures are being armed by someone, but based on how these animals are reacting to us, they’re unaccustomed to a humanoid presence.

HAMUUL: A druid, then, appearing in animal form?

MALFURION: Most likely. Not any affiliated with us, though, I can’t imagine.

Mylune continues scampering around the plateau, chasing assorted critters and emitting happy squeals at frequencies only occasionally perceptible to the orcish ear.

GARROSH: Well riddle me this, Antlers. How do I know some of your Alliance buddies aren’t behind this?

MALFURION: Warchief, I could try to hide behind some sort of sweeping statement of principle, but even setting that aside, look around. If the Alliance were going to encroach on Horde territory, do you really believe this is the best idea they could come up with?


MALFURION: The Alliance leadership may be many things, but they’re not idiots.

MOKVAR: You’ve met Varian, right?

Mylune grabs at a rat, which wriggles around in a desperate, ill-fated attempt to escape her grasp.

MYLUNE: Oh no no no, Mr. Sneaky Rat, you don’t get away that easy, silly thing! You mousey-faces need love too!

GARROSH: By the way, did she miss the part about them being, you know, armed and shit?

HAMUUL: I’m fairly sure she just hears “cute animals,” and the rest becomes something of a blur.

A few prairie dogs gather up closer to Mylune, while a group of rabbits hop over to her. One bounces up into her hands, which sets off a torrent of joyful squealing.

MYLUNE: Ohhhhh I love you too, little bunny rabbit!

She squeezes the rabbit against her, only to have it bounce free. While she tries to regain her grasp on the rabbit, some of the other critters gather around closer to her.

MYLUNE: No no, Mr. Bunny, I’ve got— ooh careful with your teeth there, Mr. Bunny, those are a little sharp—! But don’t worry, I won’t drop— eek! Careful, little bunny, you really have some choppers, hee hee!

GARROSH: Um, is it my imagination, or are they…?

Several critters gather around Mylune, and, while she tries to resume hugging her original rabbit, a second rabbit hops up onto her shoulder and starts weakly swinging at her neck with the tiny axe it carries in its mouth.

MYLUNE: Now settle—ouch!—settle down, silly little Bunny-Pants, Auntie Luney—oof!!—Now stop that, you little cutie-pie!

Some of the prairie dogs run in close to Mylune’s hooves and start jabbing at her with their tiny daggers.

MYLUNE: Noooo, silly little—eek!—little fuzzy-wuzzies! OUCH! No, that hurts! You don’t want to hurt—AAH!—to hurt Autie Luney, do you? <skipping around, trying to keep her legs clear of the prairie dogs> No, don’t! Aunie Luney—ooh!—Auntie Luney just wants to love you!

A trio of rats start shooting BBs at Mylune with their miniature rifles. The prairie dogs scampering around her feet are joined by additional mini-axe-carrying rabbits.

MALFURION: I tried to warn her about forcing her affection on woodland creatures…

HAMUUL: Mmhmm.

MYLUNE: <tilting her head to avoid the weak swings of the rabbit on her shoulder> No! No, bunny! Stop!  Please—EEP!—please, fuzzies!

GARROSH: Gotta say, I knew something bad was going to happen to her.

MYLUNE: <sobbing> No! You’re too—AAH! your teeth really are sharp, bunny—! Ooh! You’re too cute and sweet and—ugh!—and loveable to be mean like—like— OWW!!! <grabs the rabbit hopping at her chest and pulls it away> That fucking HURTS, you carrot-sucking son of a BITCH! <glares down at the rabbit in her hands> I try to be nice to you motherfuckers and this is the thanks I get?! Well FUCK THAT!

Mylune flings the rabbit away – narrowly missing Garrosh’s head – then grabs the axe-carrying rabbit on her shoulder. Seizing it by its ears, she whips it around in an arc in front of her and slams its body into a nearby tree.


GARROSH: <turning quizzically to Hamuul and Malfurion> Um…

MYLUNEYou wanna fucking go? OKAY, WE’LL FUCKING GO!

Mylune kicks a nearby prairie dog off into the distance, then stomps on another as she brings her hoof back down.

MYLUNE: <grabbing a rabbit in one hand, a rat in the other> How do you like me NOW, assholes?! <smashes the rabbit and rat together, head first> HOW DO YOU FUCKING LIKE ME NOW?!

MOKVAR: Is it wrong that I’m actually finding this kind of hot?

GARROSH: Don’t make me put a talking ban on you too.

Mylune tramples a group of prairie dogs that have been stabbing ineffectually at her legs, then snatches up a rat. She whips the rat around in circles by its tail, lashes it through a pack of critters, then launches it into the air beyond the edge of the plateau.

MYLUNE: <glaring around at the remaining critters> ANYBODY ELSE WANNA BE A FUCKING HERO?

A handful of rats shoot more BBs at Mylune, who runs over and tramples them into the ground. Several rabbits start to regroup behind her; she turns on them and glares.

MYLUNE: ANY OF YOU FUCKING PRICKS MOVE, AND I’LL EXECUTE EVERY MOTHINGFUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU! <looks around side to side, breathing hard with fists clenched> Yeah, that’s right! KING KRUSH AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME!!

Garrosh turns to Hamuul and Malfurion and appears to start talking a few times before actually uttering the words.

GARROSH: So…that was unexpected.

HAMUUL: You might think.

MALFURION: You have no idea how much money is going to change hands over this back at Nordrassil.

HAMUUL: I had her for August, myself.

MALFURION: Ah, pity. So close.

GARROSH: Wait, you mean you guys…you know what? Never mind. Let’s not even.

MALFURION:  Suffice to say there are those who’ve…had their concerns.

MYLUNE: Oh shut your fucking pie hole, Mal! <looking around at the scattering critters> Yeah!  Yeah!  You BETTER run! I… <breathing starts to slow to normal> See what you…

Mylune closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then looks around slowly at the scattered critter bodies.

MALFURION: And here we go.

MYLUNE: Oh…oh no… Oh, no, no, no… <rubbing her hands over her hair, then covering her face> No, no, oh Goddess no no no, not again

GARROSH: Hang on, did she—

HAMUUL: Just don’t.

Mylune looks around sadly, whimpering more and more incoherently, and starts to cry uncontrollably while slumping down onto the ground.

MYLUNE: No, no, nooo…

MALFURION: <to Hamuul> Shall we?

HAMUUL: We may as well.

Hamuul and Malfurion walk over to Mylune and help her to her feet.

MALFURION: There, there…

GARROSH: I should probably let you guys focus on…you know.

HAMUUL: I can fly ahead and tell Cenarius to clear his afternoon.

MALFURION: Probably for the best.

MYLUNE: <sobbing weakly> Mr. Thumper, I’m sorry…!


Okay, so, um…yeah.

I’ve got a few ideas on where to turn next in all of this, but first…yeah… I think I need a drink.

Actually, I think I need several.

Actually, I think I need a brewery.

Back later.



“What are you lookin’ at?”


March of the critters


So after seeing everybody’s responses the last couple days on the whole animals-with-armor thing, I’ve decided there’s got to be something going on out there. Just to check on things, though, I took a trip down to one of the best, densely populated places for no-kidding-around animals this side of Sholazar Basin – Un’Goro Crater. I spent a while running around there, smacking down anything and everything I could find, which believe you me, was a LOT.

What did I get, in less than fifteen minutes of asskicking?

A set of laminated scale shoulderpads. A leather jadefire belt. A spiked dagger. A smooth leather helmet AND a set of smooth leather shoulderpads – you know, a matching set for the fashionable dinosaur that doesn’t want to fucking clash. TWO primed muskets. A balanced war axe.

Heard enough yet? I mean, hell, we don’t hook up the new recruits out of the Valley of Trials with this much shit.

Oh, and also, nothing to do with the geared-out dinosaurs, but can I just ask this while I’m at it? Can someone please explain to me how a twenty-foot-tall, 10,000-pound devilsaur can fucking SNEAK UP ON YOU? Seriously, not once but TWICE, I was going about my business, and next thing you know one of those gigantic yet inexplicably dead silent devilsaurs came rolling on up on me. I mean, fine, fat lot of good it did them, but still. How does that work? I can notice a stealthed rogue – who’s fucking TRAINED to be sneaky – doing his whooshy thing from like ten yards away, and yet the fucking five-ton dinosaur gets the jump on me? The hell?

Anyway, this pretty much settled for me that something was up with these animals. And looking over everyone’s comments from the other day, I decided I needed to do some followup around a few other zones. In particular, this business in Mulgore that Cygnia was talking about in Monday’s comments. So, I flew over to Thunder Bluff and did a little asking around on the Hunter Rise. I ended up talking for a while with Melor Stonehoof, who’s pretty much the tauren to talk to about all things hunting. He confirmed that there had been reports of some oddities with some of the animals nearby, and be pointed me in the direction of a plateau to the north of Thunder Bluff.

I flew over, and…oh boy. So yeah, the plateau is full of rabbits and rats and prairie dogs, and…well, okay, check it out for yourself.


I know, right?

Prairie dogs with helmets and knives. Rabbits with axes. Rats with fucking skull helmets and tiny little shotguns.


I mean, never mind figuring out how this is happening – I’m having enough trouble just processing the fact that it IS happening. I seriously had to stop a minute to make sure I hadn’t started toking the felweed again and forgot about it or something.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you’re wondering the same thing I was at this point: What could these critters possibly be doing with this stuff? Why in the world would they me stocking up on all the military gear?


Well, I think I’ve got your answer. Let’s come at that last one from a different angle, okay? Follow along with me now…




Kargath, we have a problem.


Secret stash of the animal kingdom


After the mind-fuckery of the whole Faranell situation, I decided I could stand to have a little time to step away and clear my head. So I shoveled the latest batch of paperwork off on Eitrigg (who has been LOVING ME, let me tell you, since I realized I could get away with sticking him with that kind of stuff) and got my gear together for a fishing trip. Used to do that all the time with Dranosh back in Nagrand, not so much the last few years since I suddenly turned into a grown-up and had to be all responsible and shit. Guess that’s just the price you pay for being successful.

When I headed upstairs to get Mortimer, Gurtash was there cleaning his stall, so I figured what the hell, the kid probably doesn’t get to go on a lot of fishing trips, so I invited him along. We flew over to the Southfury River, and skipped across to the Barrens side. There’s an old dock there, not far from Nozzlepot’s Outpost, that’s pretty convenient for fishing. We camped out there for a little while, and right off, the kid lands himself a 17-pound catfish. That’s all I needed, a cocky 13-year-old, right?

We fished for a while, and then at one point Gurtash decided to stretch his legs some and ran around a little near the dock. Not too far, still within sight of me…which was a good thing, since while he was zipping around, he managed to catch the attention of one of those lions that wander around that part of the Barrens. And so here comes the lion trying to chew on Gurtash. I charged over and smacked the lion down – no biggie, I didn’t even have to draw a weapon to do it, just whoosh, pow, dead.

None of this was any big deal, but after I dropped the lion, I noticed something kind of weird.

The lion had a pair of worn mail boots. And when I say “had,” I’m not saying he had them stuffed in his pockets or something, because guess what, lions DON’T HAVE FUCKING POCKETS, so just to make sure you’re getting the full picture, the lion ws WEARING them. On its back feet. Which…you know…strikes me as a little strange for a lion.

I took a couple minutes to WTF over that, but then I just shrugged it off and went back to fishing. Thing is, though, once we were back at the dock, it didn’t take too long before a crocolisk from the river decided that Gurtash smelled awful tasty, and came trudging on up after him. So once again, Garrosh to the one-shot rescue.

And, um, after the croc was dead, we noticed it was wearing a…barbaric loincloth.

Kind of odd, wouldn’t you say?

I thought it was a tiny bit peculiar.

Didn’t really see that one coming.

Nope, sure didn’t.

Oh, and also…


I don’t think it’ll come as a shock to anyone that all this started getting me pretty weirded out and curious. So I finished up the last batch of fishing with Gurtash, got him all strapped in on Mortimer, and sent them both back to Orgrimmar. Once they were on their way, I took a little time to do a little hunting, and wound up littering the area around the Southfury with a decent-sized batch of dead crocolisks, lions, and raptors.

The outcome? A lot of them didn’t have much of anything on them, other than claws and fangs and the usual animaly crap. But out of a couple dozen dead animals, I wound up finding a cloth vest, a pair of brackwater boots, some mail soldier’s gauntlets, some amulet on one of the crocolisks, and, maybe even more disturbingly, a blunt claymore, a curved dagger, and a birchwood maul.

Which…um…kind of raises the question, why would animals be wandering around with all this shit?

Has anybody else been running into this problem? Finding animals carrying stuff around with them that makes not a single fucking bit of sense for an animal to have? This actually isn’t a rhetorical question – I want to know if other people have been seeing this or if I’m just crazy. So, everybody reading this, chime in if this sounds at all familiar, and let me know what you’ve run across and where. Comment on this post, e-mail me (, shoot me a tweet, whatever. I want to figure out what the hell is going on here, and the only way I’m going to do that is if I get as much information as I can.

So, you heard me, get commenting if you’ve seen something! And you know what, if you HAVEN’T seen something? Get out there and go all Nesingwary on some animals just to make sure, then check back here!  YOUR WARCHIEF HAS SPOKEN.