Monthly Archives: December 2015
Monday GUEST mailbag: Gurtash
Okay, so remember when I announced this guest mailbag by Gurtash, and wondered if I was going to have to find him his own text color? Yeah, well, as it turns out, the kid found a way to make that question moot. Here, let me kick it over to him and let him explain…
Where did you get into art?
What’s your favourite piece you’ve drawn? Get well soon!
–Valinora Lightshorn, Stormwind City
My name is Sarlin. I’m not sure if you read Warchief Hellscream’s blog or mailbag much. I’m a new reader, myself. Not sure if you’ve heard of me at all. It’s nice to see that you’re finally up and about! Well…up, anyway. Healing, I think is the word.
What you did a while ago was really brave. Putting your life on the line for a friend (who I honestly don’t have time to whine about; according to Garrosh, I’m still on the limit with you, too) and coming away with a badge to show for it? That took guts. You’ve done more than the Horde proud, and I really hope you see it.
Incidentally, if the scar is still a bit strange to you, maybe you’ll take a little comfort in the knowledge that I have one in almost exactly the same place. You’ll get used to it over time, don’t worry. Plus, you have a pretty damn good tale to tell whenever you get asked about it! Trust me, they LOVE hearing those in the taverns. Not that I spend much time in them, of course.
Wishing you a speedy recovery. Light be with you.
Rest easy and get ready for your training with Garrosh! Give the rest of the DPS my regard, also.
–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade
Spirits be wit’ ya, Gurtash! I heard what happened ta everybody’s favorite artist and praise da Loa that ya recovered. š
Since you’re on mail duty while your body still be healing, do ya do any haiku or epic verses of your own besides the art?
–Alayea
30 Days of Character Development #9: Tirion Fordring
[Periodically — granted, that’s been a long period in this case — a post will profile one of the blogās many supporting players. (See theĀ first profileĀ for more details.) Feel free to chime in with recommendations for other characters youād like to see more about! I promise the next one will come along with much less delay than this one…]
Name: Tirion Rutherford Alouicious Wulfric Fordring IV
Occupation: Supreme Commander of the Argent Crusade, Highlord of the Silver Hand, co-leader of the Ashen Verdict, lord of Mardenholde Keep, governor of Hearthglen
Race: Human
Class: Paladin
Age: 59
Group affiliations: Argent Crusade (leader), Knights of the Silver Hand (founding member and highlord), Ashen Verdict (co-leader), Hearthglen (former and current governor), Kingdom of Lordaeron (former citizen), Alliance of Lordaeron (former member)
Known relatives: Karandra Fordring (wife, deceased), Taelan Fordring (son, deceased), Devlin Fordring (father, deceased), Talya Fordring (mother, deceased), Lucius Fordring (uncle, deceased), Tirion Fordring III (grandfather, deceased) (Apparent survival tip: Donāt be related to Tirion Fordring.)
Earth Online notes: Tirion Fordring doesnāt play Earth Online, as far as anyone knows. (And you know it wouldnāt be even remotely difficult to pick him out if he ever turned up online…)
First appearance: āMonday mailbagā (first mention and anecdote), āWhere did all the words go?ā (first transcript appearance)
Key posts and plot points:
- Tirion Fordring, obviously, is a major lore character whose backstory is long and voluminous (fittingly enough, eh?). Weāll only be touching on plot points here that are immediately relevant to his blog appearances; those interested in a broader look at Highlord Paragraphās history should check out his entry on Wowpedia.
- Tirion, as it turns out, had a hand in some of the…ahem…cranial oddities of Garroshās Cataclysm-era model. When asked by a mailbag reader about his unusually small head, Garrosh related that he accidentally squeezed his own head down to its smaller size while trying to cover his ears to block out Tirionās endless droning in Icecrown Citadel.
- Tirionās first major appearance in the blog occurred early in the Anti-Plague of Southshore arc, in which he set Garrosh on the trail that would eventually lead him to old Southshore by relating the story of the mysterious crystal that the Knights of the Silver Hand used to forge the Ashbringer. (The blog version of the Ashbringer story, incidentally, blog-canonically confirms a longstanding fan theory: that the crystal from which the Ashbringer was forged was actually the remains of a dying Naaru.) He later gave the human incarnation of Edwin Faranell a home in Hearthglen (until everything started to go all wibbly whimey splodey).
- In the subsequent Timequake storyline, Garrosh found himself drawn into an alternate timeline in which Tirion died in Icecrown Citadel and was raised as the first of the Lich Kingās new Deathbringers. In this timeline, the Ashbringer had passed to Lady Liadrin, who had assumed leadership of the Argent Crusade after Tirionās death.
- Argent Confessor Paletress, as depicted in āArgent Gossip Girl,ā suggests that to those who work with him closely on a daily basis, Tirion may be more temperamental, lewd, and alcohol-driven than his outer persona might suggest.
- Tirion made a memorable appearance in Orgrimmar in āAnger Management,ā in which, āsponsoredā by Eitrigg, Tirion attended the anger management class conducted by Ben-Lin Cloudstrider. Evidently, Tirion gets rather angry when drunk. There was some indication that Eitrigg has been laboring with mixed success to steer his friend away from his worse inclinations. Poor Eitrigg.
- Tirionās appearances in the blog are often accompanied by cameos from Daria LāRayne, one of his aides in Mardenholde Keep. As a coda to a number of these posts, the long-suffering Daria offers words of wisdom in the form of Dariaās Pro Tips for Dealing with Tirion. Pro tips enumerated thus far have been:
- #8: Do not wear black mageweave leggings. Ever. Ever.
- #11: If he asks you if you want to hear a story, say yes. Heās going to tell you either way, but if you say no, heāll just take longer getting to it. Think of it as steering into the skid, only with the skid being a tedious barrage of words.
- #14: Never make eye contact. Eye contact makes him assume youāre interested, and increases word output by 25%.
- Letās establish some bonus blog canon for the first time: Tirion shares a birthday with our very own Warchief. Specifically, December 17. (Backstory: While working on a timeline of blog and canonical lore events — which will be added to theĀ When Is This? page as soon as I finish getting a table set up and formatted — I noticed that Garrosh mentioned being 34 years old in one post that, in the world of the blog, would have taken place in November, then later noted that he was 35 years old in a post that took place in February. This meant that Garroshās birthday would probably be either in December or January, and since my own birthday falls on December 17, I figured, what the hell, Iāll give Garrosh that birthdate too. Shortly thereafter, an Ask.fm question prompted me to do a little research on famous people who shared my birthday. One notable I discovered who was born on December 17 was actor Bernard Hill, who, in addition to playing Theoden in the Lord of the Rings movies (dock yourself 20 nerd points if you needed me to tell you that), is also the in-game voice actor for one Tirion Fordring. And from there…well, really, those last couple dots just connect themselves.)
- Thanks to regular commenter (and unofficial blog historian) Shen Wei, Tirion Fordring has a presence on Twitter as @HighlordFordrin. Yes, you read that right. Tirion on Twitter. The 140-character-limit jokes practically write themselves.
In his own words:
Describe your relationship with your mother or your father. Was it good? Bad? Were you spoiled rotten, ignored? Do you still get along now, or no?
Greetings and good day, my friend! A pleasure to have your company this fine afternoon in Heathglen! Far too few visitors have graced these halls in recent days — not always so, I assure you! There was once a time — not long ago, in fact, but soon after I made my return from Northrend to take my place once again in Mardenholde Keep — when travelers would frequent Hearthglen, and these halls would sing with the raucous voices of fellowship! But strangely, my friend, most strangely, those voices have of late grown fewer and less frequent, as these past few years, for reasons unknown surely to any but the sagest seers, fewer and fewer visitors have found their way to these gates. Do not misunderstand me, of course, good pilgrim; a regular stream of adventurers still makeĀ their way here — often at the behest of my friend and colleague Nathaniel Dumah — drawn in equal measure from the peoples of the Alliance and Horde alike, offering their most-welcome aid to our noble efforts here. Nevertheless, their numbers grow few, and often transient, arriving in haste and departing just as swiftly, caught up, no doubt, in the rushĀ and tumult to which youthful fervor is predisposed; and so our halls grow strangely quiet, our streets peculiarly empty of the visitors who once passed routinely within these walls. Surely not, however, for the lack of a warm welcome to be found here in Hearthglen, I assure you, my friend! To which you yourself, I hope, might attest! And even not, dear visitor, you may rest assured that I will endeavor personally to amend such failings before your time here as my guest has come to a close. A time, I can only hope, that will not run its course too quickly!
But now, I fear, I may have gone briefly astray of your original inquiry. But you will, I trust, forgive me my preamble, born as it was of the enthusiasm of a delighted host! Now then, to your question! What was our topic again, my friend?
Oh. Um⦠your relationship with your mother and father?
Ah yes! I recall it now! So you care to hear of the Fordring line that came before me! Quite the yarn to be spun, I can assure you, my friend, as the Fordrings, I will have you know, were present among the earliest of settlers to make their way north from the kingdom Arathor to lay the foundation of what would in time become Lordaeron. My kin arose from humble beginnings, as did many noble houses of their day, but thus began the story of a family line which, if you will forgive the brief immodesty of familial pride, may now lay claim to a legacy to rival those of some of the most celebrated houses on our time. Alas, my friend, it is a legacy that now nears its end, as — with the tragic passing of my beloved, departed son Taelan — I now stand as the last of the line of Fordrings. I do not ask your pity, though, good sir. All great stories must of necessity find their end — and I assure you I have every hope that my own chapter is yet far from its final pages! Regardless, I know you are not here to hear of endings, and no endings will you be forced upon you! Beginnings, then! The beginning of our tale, of the House of Fordring, a story — nay, a saga! — that now spans well past a thousand years! A thousand years, my friend! Can you fathom it? Such spans of time must tax the imagination of even the greatest of mortal minds, at least among we races who are so short-lived. Surely to the night elves — my esteemed aide Miss LāRayne proudly among their number — this millennium-long expanse might seem as fleeting as a summer afternoon, and yet, to we more mortal beings? An endless expanse, long enough to encompass the rise and fall of empires and string together generations by the dozen. And so allow me to grace you, as per your inquiry, some small sampling of those generations: the line of Fordrings as they reach out across a thousand years! Again I ask you, my friend, can you imagine it? A thousand years of Fordring!
I think Iām beginning to understand what that would be like.
Hah! Indeed! Then yours is a keener intellect than mine, my friend! Often have I pondered the vastness of history, and equally often have I found my mind incommensurate to the task of grasping its enormity. But then, I labor under no delusions: I am an educated man, good fellow, but I do not presume to count myself among the great thinkers of our day. Perhaps history will count you among them, eh? Perhaps so! It would not surprise me in the least, noble scholar, for I see in you the quiet focus that oft accompanies great minds: you speak little, and think much! Is it not so? Indeed, I count myself fortunate to have found myself, by serendipity, in the company of many such minds.
And so, let us begin, let us not? The day grows short, and we have centuries of history to discuss! And so, to the beginning, and the mighty realm of Arathor!
Actually, this question was really just about your parents.
Ah! I see, I see — and here you prove me right, my friend! The focused mind of the scholar you do indeed possess, training with marksman-like precision upon the key object of your inquiry! It is a discipline of mind that serves you well in your studies, my friend; I myself would make a path through libraries and symposia that would surely prove more discursive. A credit to you! Yet if you would indulge an old man his musings, might I urge you in your pursuits to be wary of too great a focus, a narrowing of vision so intent as to cause all the world around you to fall away. My own dear uncle Lucius, Iāll have you know, fell victim to just such proclivities; he was a scholar in his own right, in his day, though he fell victim to misfortune ere he could complete such research as might be remembered. He, too, was ever focused on his studies: toiling night and day over tomes and scrolls; scrying into the records of the past in tireless search for hidden clues to unfathomable puzzles; never wavering, never relenting, until, at last, from too long reading and too short sleeping, my poor, dear uncle finally lost his grasp on reality, and spent his remaining days rambling through the world chasing bats and railing against windmills. His is, indeed, a tragic but fascinating tale in its own right, one which I suspect you may well find instructive. I recall all too well the final days of our interaction, when he lived near Andorhal, not far from this very place.
Iām sure thatās fascinating and all, but⦠your parents.
Hah! Well played, good sir, well played! You catch an old man once again in his departures into memory. For such is the burden of so long life, is it not, my friend? The ease with which one may yield to the temptation of memory, to wander wistfully back to revisit a life well-lived. Ah, but I forget myself now, for I see your eyes yet glimmer with the brightness of youth, though I suspect I may yet catch as well the momentary, ephemeral shadow of hardship. Such is the burden for us all, is it not, my friend, all of us who have lived through the mounting troubles of our troubled age? Dark days, my noble scholar. Yet hope endures for a world we might yet build.
In any case, your question deserves an answer. Let me turn now, at last, to the crux.
Oh thank goodness.
My parents were modest in means but noble in mien. As I have alluded to, our family had been among the earliest of Arathi settlers to undertake the sojourn north into the land that would come be known as Lordaeron — ah, fear not, my friend; I see the shadow of vexation fall over your eyes, but I assure you no harm befell them during the trek, and while the details of their travels could spin into many a captivating a yarn in their own right, I must surely for not stay the course with the matter at hand. You shall not lure me into digression, my friend, so for now you must need content yourself with noting down points for subsequent inquiry! I commend you, though, for your obvious fascination — ah, your curiosity recommends you, good sir.
Now where was I? Oh yes! My parents were the most recent of tradesmen and craftsmen in the Fordring line — occasionally taking arms in defense of the kingdom, but, while serving with honor and distinction, never garnering acclaim for heroic deeds of particular note. Nevertheless, we were an honored family, respected, and while never affluent, my parents never wanted for the necessities, nor indeed some modest few of the pleasantries, of life. Just so, I cannot say I knew want as a child, though in retrospect I likewise cannot say I was showered with material things — the world, it seemed, furnished me with toys and diversions enough, without my needing to pester my parents to secure me others from the local shops. That, I suppose, was an austerity of nature instilled in me by my mother, Talya, who I recall would often remark on the misguided avarices that often plagued the ambitious: that the sense of oneās own happiness oft would rise from comparison between the measure of what one has, against what one wants; and that far too many of us err in thinking that the key to their contentment lies in maximizing the former, when in truth the key is minimizing the latter.
Clearly, of course, good fellow, I did not fully apprehend the wisdom of my motherās words — hardly was I a deep thinker as a child. Indeed, one might yet argue, hardly am I one now! Hah! I see the look in your eyes, my friend, and know that I have beaten you to the jest! Hah again, I say! Well played again, sir!
Where was I?
Well, I think that pretty much covered–
Ah yes! My parents! And so, my dear, departed mother instilled in my a modesty of want that, I am sure, forestalled in me any sense of limitation in our means. My father, meanwhile, the late sir Delvin Fordring, took pains to teach me of duty and honor, and the kinship of all mortal souls. It was he who instilled in me an understanding of the fine line that separates even the most fortunate from the least, and the resulting shared duty that unites us all in turn. For we are all our brotherās keeper, are we not, my friend? And just so, under my fatherās influence — aside perhaps from the earliest of youthful misjudgments, which, I assure you, Father was only too quick to correct, with no small degree of sternness — even before I had reached my teenage years, more than one would-be schoolyard bully had found his nose bloodied at my still-growing hands. I recall, indeed, on more occasion than one, returning home bearing on my own person the unmistakable marks of scuffle; to which Fatherās only inquiry would be āWhose bruises would they have been, if not yours?ā; to which — provided my truthful response: one smaller, one weaker, one set upon by an assailant against whom they could pose no defense — his only judgment would be āThen wear them well.ā It would be the sense of duty and compassion instilled in me by both my parents in kind that would send me, soon enough, into service in the defense of Lordaeron. Would that they were still with us, to witness the world that yet we — I — strive to build in their memory, in their honor, a lasting tribute to their guidance.
So⦠Are you…finished?
My friend? Did I omit some salient detail you had hoped to glean from my youth? By all means, sir, if you feel some facet remains overlooked in my haste to expedite the tale–
No, no, thatās fine. I should probably get to the next question.
By all means! The night is young, and I am, of course, at your disposal, my friend, for however long I might be of aid to you!
Right⦠I kind of figured. Okay, so…next question:
Name one scar you have, and tell us where it came from. If you donāt have any, is there a reason?
I am a veteran of many battles of many wars, my friend — too many, indeed, for who but a fool or a monster would wish upon this world further bloodshed, when far too great a toll in lives has been paid, sacrificed upon the ill-begotten altar of all our foolish vanity? Who would seek such a thing? None, I tell you, good scholar — at least none that I should ever wish to find in my company. Not a problem we find here now between us, though, eh, my friend? None indeed! For I look into your eyes and know that we are two of a kind, bound in fellowship by our shared desire for the prosperity of our world, and the final attainment of that precious peace that has long — too long — eluded us.
Now, my friend, as to your question: scars, you ask! Scars indeed, good author, for after all the many days that I have spent awash in the conflicts of our age, many are the marks upon my person that I have taken with me as trophies, mementos of time spent amid the sober work of battle. I see that you, too, bear such trophies — you have seen a battle or two in your day as well, eh, my friend? A shame that fate has deemed it necessary, and yet an honor to know what such valiant souls as yourself yet walk among us.
Okay. So weāll put you down for āseveral scars but no particular storiesā–
I beg to differ, good sir! No stories? No stories indeed! Ah, you have a fine sense of humor about you, and, rest assured, I appreciate your kind effort to spare an old man the need to delve into memories that, I suspect, you fear may be too painful to recount. Rest assured, though, my friend, after the horrors I have beheld in my day, a mere jaunt down the dusty halls of memory shall offer no such deterrent! A tale you requested, my good fellow, and so a tale you shall have!
Oh no…
Ah, it was a dark time, my friend. Dark indeed, and perilous, though I suspect I need not remind you — all too well do all remember the shadow that stretched its hand across two worlds, in the days of the Second War. When the demonsā poison coursed through the veins of the orcs — even those of my dear friend Eitrigg, as honorable a man as ever I might hope to know — whose acquaintance, perhaps, we share, my friend? but again I digress — yes, when the demonsā curse poisoned the orcish race and set them on their ill-fated rampage across their world and ours, when the Horde of old twice swept across Lordaeron, laying waste to all they met. We fought them, my friend; we nearly fell, on more occasions than one, as we struggled to hold them back, until finally we drove them back to their stronghold at Blackrock Mountain, and there, on the mountainside, we matched blades with our enemy one final time for the fate of our world.
I was there, my friend. I fought at Blackrock Spire, and saw such sights as I dare not repeat — indeed, such horrors as I might pray to wipe clean from my own aging recollection. For such are the horrors of war, are they not? The loss of life, the suffering uncountable, the nightmares forever seeded. The waste. Would that we might never see its like again, my friend; we speak at times of the glory of battle, but one need only sample its acrid taste once to understand such glimmer only exists in the imaginings of those not forced into warās midst.
Right, so, war is bad.
Bad! Bad, you say, sir? Such understatement! I should hope a scholar of such obvious attainment should command words more fitting, for hardly does ābadā even suffice! And yet, sir — yet! — I would not wish words further from you, lest they should conjure more acutely recollection of such evils in their fullest form! For surely, all who partook in those dark days, those grisly hours of battle, spent many a year thereafter scarcely able to sleep soundly, for all the restless nights that dreadful dreams must have forced upon them. Even I, who was no stranger to battle even ere those times, was not immune to such things, and recall uneasily the weeks and months that followed, left alone to grapple with the haunting knowledge of what I had beheld.
Well, I donāt want to bring up bad memories for you, so–
The sky was angry that day, my friend! Angry and dark, overcast with portentous clouds, the air heavy with mist and dank with the stench of carnage.
Or not. Okay.
For hours — so many countless, unrelenting hours, my friend — we battled on the slopes of Blackrock Mountain, clawing our way, inch by inch, ever closer to the enemyās stronghold. Do I say hours? They seemed as days, or weeks; nay, time itself lost near all meaning as the toil of battle weighed down upon us. And yet we did not tire, sir! Despite the wounds and blows, despite the ever-mounting aching of limbs taxed far beyond their limits, even still we pressed on, fought on, for we knew all too well what hung in the balance!
As the dark cloud gathered overhead, we marched upon Blackrock and fought our way past wave upon wave of enemy troops. There with us fought the great Alexandros Mograine, eventual bearer of the Ashbringer, the holy blade which even now I wield in his memory and honor — would that he were still with us, my friend, and not felled in the years that would follow by the vilest act of treachery. But that is a story for another day, sir — indeed, for another day, and you shall not sway me to digress from the tale at hand! Try though you might, you shall not delay me from the true object of my narrative!
Trust me, I wonāt try.
As well you should not, my friend! For it is your very question that set me on this path, and you shall now lead me astray before I have forged on to a proper answer! I owe you no less, as my honored guest!
Now where was I? Oh yes!
While Alexandros rallied our troops to buttress our western flank, he briefly dropped his guard and left his back vulnerable to the attack of a charging ogre. Before the vile creature could land his blow, however, I interceded, blindsiding the ogre in turn and felling him with a piercing strike through the back of his neck. The ogre collapsed to the ground, and Alexandros and I exchanged words of camaraderie as he rode off to resume his efforts at the flank — but as he departed, and I called forth some few final words of encouragement, I found myself falling prey to the self-same error that nearly claimed the life of my friend. For I, as well, had failed to maintain proper vigilance, and a second ogre — perhaps a friend of the one whose life even still bled forth onto the field of battle — bore down upon me from behind. Surely, though, the Light was watching over me, as the ogre landed a blow that wounded but did not kill: his bulky club caught my back, just at the shoulder, with one spike digging deep into flesh. I managed to gather myself and engage my monstrous attacker, and with no small difficulty, smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Nevertheless, his blow had left its mark; my left shoulder carries a deep scar even to this day, and now and again, even to this day, I occasionally feel the lingering effect of the injury, as two fingers of that hand will sometimes lose sensation. A small price to pay, nevertheless, for the safety of our people, our homes — one that I would gladly pay again, with interest, should circumstance ever demand it.
Okay. Well, I think that covers everythingā¦
Indeed, my friend? But surely there was more you wished to ask. Why, even now I see you still have several pages of your notes right there — questions, doubtless, for our continued interview. Hardly would I rush you through your efforts, or, worse still, force you to curtail the inquiries youāve traveled so far to pursue! We shall have no such incivility here, good sir! I would never forgive myself such a misstep.
No, thatās really okay. Those notes are for something else.
Ah, I see — forever juggling projects, isnāt it just the way, my friend? The burdens of necessity, no doubt; I know myself that I can scarcely find the time to give my many varied tasks the time theyāre due — oftentimes Iāve scarcely completed dictating my daily correspondence when it seems at though the whole of the day has begun to slip away. Ah, world enough and time!
Right. So⦠do you happen to know where Daria went? I think she said something about getting a drink at a tavern.
Previous Profiles:
Monday mailbag
Another mailbag, another chance for someone to annoy the living daylights out of me. So let’s get right to it and see what’s going to piss me off this time around…
Man, am I glad to be done with my tour in Outland. Nagrand was beautiful and all, but Netherstorm had too many whiny elves and weird bandage guys. And it was too purple. Way too purple. It was good to return to Orgrimmar for a while, and even better to see the place finished! Guess you showed those goblin contractors, huh?
Of course, being home was good and all, but what the fuuuuhhhc-flip happened to Gurtash?! THIS IS WHY HAVING A MEATSHIELD IS A VERY GOOD IDEA! YOU KNOW, LIKE ME? It was good to see him, and the others in the DPS for a little while anyway (even if Gurtash was unconscious the whole time). I still can’t believe I missed him waking up, too! I wish that transport to Northrend came a few days later.
Anyway, you can probably guess where I am now, and even at your old command post! I can’t believe I got to meet THE Saurfang! He’s…not as tall as I thought he’d be, but that’s okay! I still met him and he shook my hand and *the letter goes on a bit in hastily scribbled and barely-decipherable fangirling*. Oh! He did seem kinda grumpy when I brought up that I was in your training group. What’s the deal with that, anyway?
I hope that things stay quiet while I’m up here. And if I’m needed for, like, tanky things, please please PLEASE tell me! The DPS can’t wait forever for a tank, right?
–Mirembe
Hoo boy. Here we go with a new spastic fangirl flipping the hell out because she met Saurfang. Iām not kidding, Mira, you should talk to Ruekie sometime. You two could start a club or something. You could be president, Rook could be vice-president. Or vice versa. Hell, Mokvar could probably be freaking treasurer. You could have your own secret handshake and everything. Although that would probably just consist of one of you saying āSaurfang!ā and then the other one would be like āI know!ā and then you both just flail and squeal for six minutes.
And you know, youāre right about the whole tanky thing, but dude, donāt act like IāM the one holding up the works. The whole reason the DPS is āwaitingā on a tank is because the TANK is keeping them waiting while she gets her field training caught up to where they are! Whatās next? Are you going to keep them waiting some more, then show up and be like, oh, oops, I need to run back to town and see a blacksmith because my armorās all banged up and I didnāt think to take care of that before I came out here? Or maybe you can show up and go racing through the mission siteĀ as if thereās an outhouse at the end of it and OH MAN did you have an extra-potent heaping helping of chili for dinner. Is that what they get to look forward to?
So, yeah, punch line: STOP YAPPING AND GET YOUR SHIT IN GEAR, DAMMIT.
On the plus side, even though you missed it, Gurtash IS up and doing better. The healers are going to need to check on him for a little while, but he should be okay. UNTIL NEXT TIME. MAYBE SOME TANK SHOULD FINISH HER TRAINING LEVELS BEFORE THEN. TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK.
I’d like a package of all the blue crayons for myself, and one pack of nothin’ bu da the “trolls be trollin'” for Bob. I’d been wondering what ta get him as a present for an upcoming event, and it turn out I be saved by Garrosh’s mail bag.
–Alayea
Huh. Gotta admit, I wasnāt expecting people to jump on the crayon bandwagon so quickly, but what the hell, merchandising cash is merchandising cash. So you know what, Alayea? Youāre on. One package of blues, and⦠oh, why not? Here, on top of the blue crayons I showed off last mailbag, go ahead and take a few bonus shades:
There you go. As for the ātrolls be trollināā pack⦠well, okay, Iāll send them, but Iām going to warn you: when you get that package, donāt touch it with your bare hands. Seeing as I know itās going to that Bob guy, I might possibly have to see about Faranell doing⦠something special with those crayons before I send them out. Or failing that, mix in a little, ahem, gift from Mortimer. Or both. Iāll improvise something. Because fuck that Bob guy.
Anyhow, crayons on the way. Apparently this merchandising thing might bring in a few gold after all. Who knew WCB crayons would be the thing to take off? Hell, what else could I cash in on? Kafa mugs? T-shirts? Hey, how about a nice Warchief-approved bumper sticker for your chopper or whatever? Here, have at it:
Hell, maybe I should let Spazzle put those action figures of his into production after all. Maybe giving people the chance to own their very own miniature plastic ME would get the gold pouring on in. (Dammit, I should probably rephrase that last part. Garonaās probably gonna get all excited now. FUCK, whereās the delete key again?!)
It’s good to hear that Grimjaw has settled in well at the stables. Ā Whatever task you have in store for him, I hope he serves you well. Ā
In response to your question about my children, they are aware of the trainee program, but my daughter is only 8 years old, so I’m not sure she’s ready for that, and my son has no interest in it. He’s been practising his axe-skills for some time now and is riding Blackfang daily to bond with her before he faces his om’riggor. He’s proclaimed he’s going to become a mounted warrior and follow his Thunderlord heritage. I’ve tried telling him several times that mounted combat is actually a Warsong tradition and if he really wants to follow his clan traditions he should take up the spear and become a hunter, but he won’t listen to me. Whenever I point this out to him he just grunts and says, “My strength would be wasted on hunting beasts when the animals who killed mother still walk free.” It worries me that he’ll get himself killed trying to hunt down Detanga’s killers.
At least my daughter has taken a less violent path. I was able to talk her into walking the path of restoration magic, and now she’s an apprentice of a shaman trainer in the Valley of Wisdom, Kardris Dreamseeker. She recently mentioned helping her teacher care for Gurtash, a boy from your trainee program who was grievously wounded in battle ā on which subject, my condolences, Warchief ā and how she’s been having some small conversations with him to pass the time. While he still has a great deal of healing ahead of him, I’m sure he will be fine.
I wish that was all the news I had, but unfortunately I have more news to report of Golmash and his strange green eyes. It seems I was right to suspect something ā his behaviour has become more noticably erratic. When my son and I give them meat for food, Golmash is very discerning; where most wolves would simply eat the meat as it was, he refuses to eat anything except the softest part of the meat. I constantly find him gazing blankly outside the wolfpen, refusing to be with or socialise with the other wolves. On one very strange occasion, I was about to sell a fine young Nagrandeur wolf to a rather darkly-dressed shaman when Golmash came up behind me and growled loudly. The most bizarre part, Warchief, is that the growling was… layered. Otherworldy. Like listening to my daughter playing around in her ghost wolf form. Suffice it to say,the shaman left in a hurry. I attempted to reprimand him but he bared his fangs and took a stance that looked ready to lunge at my throat; I didn’t live this long by taking foolish risks, so I let him go back to the other wolves.
Warchief, I am now thoroughly concerned. I’ve had him looked at and examined by vets, shamans, mages and trained medics and no one can seem to pick up a reason for his behaviour. No sickness, no disease, no curse ā there is no logical reason whatsoever. I almost laughed at the idea that the wolf Skychaser and Ner’zhul by proxy had something to do with all this… now, I’m not so sure I should laugh about it.
My apologies, Warchief. I fear I really have drawn your grandfather’s name into a dark and uncertain situation.
āOgunaro Wolfrunner, Kennel Master
Hey, Ogunaro, good to hear from you again. So, a few points for you. A quick one first — I should have an update for you on Grimjaw soon. As Iāve mentioned, Iāve looked in on him a few times at the Korākron stables, and he seems to be settled in pretty well. Still seems like he has a little growing to do, but heās a young wolf, as youāve said, and heās already stronger than a lot of others that are already full-sized. All of which adds up to an overall bright future for him. Again⦠updates on him soon.
Now, as for our OTHER wolf situation⦠Yeah, I donāt like the sound of this at all. Like…at ALL. I canāt say Iāve got any solid answers right now, but thereās definitely something fishy going on with this worg. So, hereās our starting point: right off, I want you to isolate Golmash. Keep him in a separate pen that will give him plenty of room to move around and do his normal wolfy things, but will also keep him completely separate from the other wolves. Until we know for sure whatās behind all this, I donāt want to take any chances with the others — whether itās Golmash getting riled up and attacking them, or somehow spreading whatever it is thatās affecting him. I know you said you couldnāt find any diseases or curses or whatever, but thereās obviously SOMETHING happening with this wolf, so until we know for sure what it is, I donāt want to rule ANYTHING out. Matter of fact, just to be safe, Iām going to send a couple Korākron beastmasters over to give a hand moving him. Iām sure youāre plenty capable, Ogunaro, but it doesnāt hurt to have a couple other people who know a thing or two about animals on hand to help keep you covered.
So thatās step one. As for step two, for your purposes itās going to consist mostly of holding tight for the time being. Iām going to see about sending someone over to have another look at Golmash. I know you said youāve already had him examined by healers and shaman and so forth, but the person I have in mind has a pretty particular set of skills and experience that might be kind of useful in this case. So, hold down the fort and help should be on the way soon. Weāll get to the bottom of this one way or another.
Okay, so, now that thatās covered, on to one last item: your son and his omāriggor preparations and whatnot. So, just so Iām clear here⦠how old is your son? The reason I ask is because, well, you said that he āhas no interestā in the military trainee program, and thatās all well and good⦠but the program isnāt exactly voluntary. When we put it into effect some months ago, the whole point of it was to recruit all able-bodied orcs aged fourteen and up. Well, up to seventeen, technically, but past that age I would figure they would already have passed their omāriggor and be out serving the Horde in some capacity. Anyhow, I donāt know if you just never got the memo about this, or maybe the notification wasnāt clear enough, in which case, yeesh, someone must have really dropped the ball writing it up, which means now I need to go crack down on some motherfuckers over in the public relations department. Which means I need to go find out if we have a public relations department. Goddamn, being Warchief is a lot of work. ANYHOW.
Point is, interested or not, chances are your son should already BE in the trainee program. But, before you start flipping out and panicking, I think this might actually be a blessing in disguise. You say your sonās hell-bent on avenging his motherās death, but youāre worried he might run off and do something foolhardy. Well, hereās a win-win situation for everyone: you can pitch the whole trainee gig as a way for him to hone his skills so heāll be that much MORE ready to kick some Alliance ass⦠but at the same time, heāll be under the direct supervision of a veteran Horde soldier. Which means, heāll always be under the watchful eye of someone whoās been around long enough to know the difference between seizing glory and courting disaster. No going off the radar, no reckless suicide missions, no surprises. And then, when heās ready — really ready — heāll get that chance to make the Alliance pay.
In the meantime, too, I can see about getting him into a group with a Thunderlord veteran. If you want. That way, he can get some exposure to traditional Thunderlord combat methods, work on his spear work and hunting prowess, that sort of thing. Not that youāre not perfectly capable of teaching him yourself, Ogunaro, but he might be a little more receptive if itās coming from a fresh voice. Failing that, if heās really got his heart set on mounted combat, I can see about getting him some Warsong supervision. That last option would be easy enough for me to swing, seeing as how I kinda have a smidgen of influence in that particular clan.
I have a question for you about Orc physiology! Iāve noticed that many Orcs such as yourself donāt have eyebrows. While others, like Garona or Gurtash do. Is there a reason for this? Are eyebrows a genetic trait that some Orcs have, and others donāt? Is eyebrow plucking simply a fashionable thing among many Orcs?
Your ever curious reader,
–Tandeleina, Silvermoon City
Curious about orc physiology, huh, Tandeleina? Is that what youāre calling it these days? Okay. Iāll buy that.
Iām just gonna leave this here: #TheLadiesLoveGarrosh.
Now, to answer your question.
You know, I actually hear this all the time, and itās really not that hard to put together if you pay attention. Youāre right, some orcs have eyebrows and some donāt. But if you look closely, thereās a much clearer pattern to it. See, all orcs have eyebrows as children. Just drop by the Orgrimmar orphanage, or, hell, check any of Gurtashās drawings of the DPS trainees. Once they reach adolescence, though, male orcs start to lose their eyebrows. It usually corresponds withĀ the appearance of facial hair — the beard starts coming in, and the eyebrows start thinning out. Donāt ask me to explain whatās different between eyebrow follicles and beard follicles, but there you go. Case in point, actually, is Kulkesh from the DPS. Heās starting to get some stubble, and if you take a close look at him, you can see heās also starting to lose his eyebrows. Eventually the same will happen to Gurtash. Orc women, on the other hand, donāt lose their eyebrows. They keep them all their lives. Itās only adult orc men who donāt have them.
As for why it works out this way, Iām guessing it has something to do with the changes in male orc body chemistry during puberty. Smart money says it’s the increase in testosterone that happens when we go from adolescence to adulthood. So testosterone causes orcs to lose their eyebrows. There you go.
And so, with that in mind, before anyone else chimes in to askā¦
I mean, you do the math. Iām just the messenger here. Science doesnāt lie, bitches.
That’s going to do it for this time around. Before I wrap up, though, one last note:Ā Looks like weāve got a bunch of people taking an interest in Gurtash. Which I guess isnāt surprising, what with the not-completely-low-grade freakout people had when that spectral assassin first smacked him down. But here, Iāve got an idea. Gurtash is still going to be resting up for a few days at least, maybe longer, while the healers make sure heās fully recovered and good to go. So he could probably use a little something to distract himself with. SO, how about this — since that guest mailbag that Shayari did a few weeks back went over pretty well, letās give the kid one of his own. This way you people can pass along your well-wishes and ask him whatever you want, directly. So get your letters for Gurtash to me over the next few days, then Iāll put up a BONUS mailbag with his responses.
Hmm. Does that mean Iām going to need to pick out a text color for HIM now? Fuck, I just keep making more work for myself. Mostly for Gurtash, granted, but also for me. Dammit.
[Garrosh’s next mailbag will be Monday, January 4. But in the interim, as the Warchief just promised, we’ll also have a GUEST mailbag featuring letters to Gurtash next Monday, December 28. Get those letters in ASAP! (And please make clear whether you’re writing to Gurtash or Garrosh.) As always, use the email link in the right sidebar, or fill in the handy form below!]
Battle scars (part 3)
* When Gurtash was injured in Blackrock Spire, he had just intervened to help Spazzle fight off a spectral assassin.
{ONE MORE INSTALLMENT ON THE WAY, AFTER MONDAY’S MAILBAG…}
Battle scars (part 2)
* Yes, it’s been a while from our point of view since Gurtash was injured here, but within the world of the blog, it’s “only” been ten days. Think comic book time, people! (You know, where three issues ofĀ Batman come out over three months from our perspective, but narrate the events of two days from Batman’s point of view.)
{CONTINUED SOON…}