Tag Archives: wyvern
Darkmoon day trip
So while we’re waiting on updates from Hillsbrad, I’m catching a little much-needed R&R time. Gurtash from the orphanage was taking care of Mortimer while I dealt with that whole to-do at the Caverns of Time, so after I got back, I got the idea that it might be nice to do something for Gurtash for all the time he’s spent wyvern-sitting. So, I checked him out of the orphanage for a little while, rounded up Mortimer, and brought him over to Mulgore. What better reward for the kid than a day at the Darkmoon Faire?
So we spent a while wandering around the faire, loading up on hot dogs and cotton candy and one of those giant orange slurpy drink thingies. I tried playing this Whack-a-Gnoll game they had – figured I could try to win Gurtash a toy or something – but Mola the carnie got all upset and said I had to leave the game area. And personally I don’t think it’s MY fault that she did not explain clearly enough that I had to use the stupid foam hammer they gave me, instead of Gorehowl. I just figured they provided the hammer for the people who didn’t think ahead to bring their own weapon. So yeah, she asked me to leave the area, after I filled out some form for where they can send the bill. Whatever. Fucking Hogger.
At least I only destroyed the fake wood-and-straw gnolls, though, rather than the LIVE one they had hanging around. They’ve got this gnoll named Sayge tucked away in a tent in one corner, giving out fortunes to people after they answer some “what would you do?” type questions. Gurtash got a fortune that said “Hopes are like wyverns: care for them and they will carry you when you’re too tired to go on.” Which, hey, good call on the wyvern thing, so you’d think Sayge knew his stuff, but then mine didn’t make a damn bit of sense – “From within it consumes,” like what the fuck? So I clocked him.
Then I had to sign some more forms.
Anyway, after that we found the petting zoo, and boy did the kid flip out at that point. I wasn’t so sure about the zoo at first, since the first pen had a bunch of gorlocs, which I had MORE than my fill of up in Northrend, because like I think I’ve mentioned, THOSE things are like what would happen if a murloc fucked a kangaroo. But then I heard them prattling on about wondering when the tour would start, and realized somebody had tricked the stupid bouncy fuckers into thinking they were VISITING the zoo and not IN it, and that’s actually hella funny awesome, so okay.
Anyway, they had a bunch of pretty jumbo-sized animals, like this gorilla Gargantua, and a basilisk named Krystal which for some reason had a carnie-shaped crystal in his pen with…oh WAIT a minute! HAH! Um, anyway. We looked around at some more of the animals, plus this big green slime thing that kept trying to spit at me through the bars of its cage. Between the spitting slime and the animal poop, I tell you, you don’t know where to step half the time in that place.
Across from the slime, they had another pen with a huge wooly rhino named Crush. We were looking at him, when all of a sudden I felt something clang off the back of my head – the shock of it knocked me forward, and made me fling my orange slurpy drink into the pen and all over the rhino. Which…yeah, another bill for animal shampoo if they notice that, too. When I looked to see what it was, though, it turned out I’d been hit by a Happy Fun Rock that some kids at the faire were tossing around – and by the time I looked, the kids had gotten their rock back, and Gurtash was making fast friends with them, and next thing you know he was racing off to run around the faire grounds with the bunch of them. And so I’m stuck sitting there between the rhino and the ooze yelling at him to come finish the tour of the petting zoo, but does he listen? No, of course not. Fine, be that way. Follow me, don’t follow me, whatever. I’ve got my slime, I’ve got my orange Crush.
So while Gurtash was running around with the other kids, I looked around the faire a little myself – and found the most awesome thing ever. The Darkmoon Deathmatch! Get this. They have this event where they put a prize in this chest in the middle of a big cage, right? And at a certain time every day, the chest unlocks so that the prize can be picked up by anyone in the cage, only the inside of the cage is a free-for-all combat zone – so in order to claim the prize, you have to fight off anyone else who happens to be in there!
Wait, did I say you HAVE to? Make that, you GET to.
I just happened to get there like ten minutes before the chest was going to unlock, and hey, look at all the humans and gnomes and draenei running around inside the cage. LOK’TAR, bitches, the DELI COUNTER OF PAIN IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS AND GIVING OUT NUMBERS. Hell yeah!
So, fast forward ten minutes for the fighting and two minutes for wading in and out through the heaps of mutilated bodies, and I’ve got my prize voucher.
The good: A quick trip to the prize-claim tent, and I had a great, big, hard-won goodie to hand off to Gurtash when he got back from running around with his new friends.
The bad: When he DID get back, turns out that two of his friends were a human kid named Michael and a draenei kid (LITERALLY) named Duquan…whose parents I, um, may or may not have just brutally slaughtered in the Deathmatch cage.
The worse: The goodie in question happened to be a giant pink teddy bear. Which I had to carry around the faire grounds until Gurtash turned up again. Which he didn’t do for like an hour and a half.
So, yeah.
Lifetime piling up
I killed her. Me and my big mouth.
Not literally. But I might as well have. t was enough that she died because I left myself vulnerable when Grebo attacked. But Grebo just BEING there was my fault.
I had to go yammering on in guild chat about where I was going with her. Not even thinking about who might be there listening in. How many times do I have to run into people pretending to be something they’re not on the internet before I get it through my thick skull? And so, there they were, Varian Wrynn and Jaina Proudmoore, right there in my own guild, soaking it all in. I might as well have sent them fucking invitations and enclosed a poisoned blade. And lo and behold, a pack of humans turn up out of nowhere.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s the only time I talked to anyone about where we were going, other than my mother herself and a few of the guards we passed leaving Orgrimmar and traveling through Ashenvale.
I know what you’re thinking – how to account for Grebo. He’s still an orc, right? So why would he be working with humans if that’s who’s behind this? And see, that’s where you’re just looking at the surface. Grebo WAS an orc. That thing that attacked me in Demon Fall Canyon? That was Grebo’s reanimated corpse. I’ve been talking to Draz’Zilb out of Brackenwall Village – he’s no stranger to necromancy, and he tells me that when someone is resurrected, there’s a whole range of possibilities as far as how much of the actual person is still there. Maybe it’s the entire being come back whole. Maybe it’s an empty shell, walking around wearing the original person’s face. Maybe it’s any of a million points in between, any combination of memories, motivations, personality, will…anyway, he tells me it wouldn’t be much of a stretch at all to rig things so whoever you’re raising is going to be perfectly cooperative, whoever you happen to be.
No shock to anyone, I’ve been going over and over this in my head all day. I ended up needing to get out of my war room and get some air, so I took Mortimer for a ride around Durotar. I was planning just to fly around some and hopefully clear my head, but on one loop around we passed over Tiragarde Keep. And I happened to look down.
Humans.
So I landed. An hour later and I was still there. Not even rushing around, just taking my time, wandering through the keep, cutting down any humans I could find.
Usually we’ve been content to leave this human outpost alone – it doesn’t pose any real threat, and the humans there are weak even by human standards, and in a way they’re handy to have around as a training exercise for some of our up-and-comers out of Razor Hill. Send the young blood over, have them take out some easy human pickings, we keep the cockroach population under control and the kids feel like they’ve accomplished something. Everybody wins.
Not today. Today I’m in no mood to humor them. Today I’m done tolerating their presence, these pathetic vermin daring – PRESUMING – to claim a foothold in our lands. These two-legged rats from Theramore (THERAMORE), sitting here almost within eyeshot of Orgrimmar… I’m done with them. They’re like animals – every action I’ve ever known them to take shows it. WORSE than animals, even – at least a dog understands loyalty, and a wyvern has some instinctive sense of honor. Like animals, but less. So I slaughtered them like animals.
It was a good afternoon. While it lasted.
A long time ago I swore I’d make the humans regret the crimes they’ve committed against our people. Somehow I let those words become just that: words. Got lazy, grew complacent, contented myself with sitting around on a throne made out of the skull of an enemy I didn’t even kill myself and puffing out my chest like I’d done enough.
No more.
Legionnaire Nazgrim finally returned home to Orgrimmar last week after extended duty in Vashj’ir. I’m promoting him to General and putting him in charge of the initial stages of what comes next. I’ll be laying out our military plans in the next few days, but I don’t plan on wasting much time before we get to work. I’ve already wasted enough. It’s time I got to work doing what I should have done long ago.
Kill them all.
The Tuskarr and the Mortimer
So here it is – the final installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Thanks to everyone who participated, whether by giving suggestions for poems, or just coming by to read the latest submissions. And so, without further ado…
The sun was shining on the sea
Beneath the Borean sky;
The waves were waving to and fro,
The crests were cresting high.
And that it was a glorious day
No creature could deny.
To Warsong Hold a zeppelin
Brought Garrosh with his bunch.
He’d come to visit D.E.H.T.A.’s camp
And have a little lunch.
And this was strange, since most of them
He would much rather punch.
But he had come to humor them
And show a little class;
He figured this way it might keep
Lather-on-us off his ass.
So he’d choke down a salad
And, with luck, would not get gas.
So as the Warchief wandered off
To find the D.E.H.T.A base,
He left his wyvern free to fly
And soar at his own pace,
Since frankly it was just as well
He stay clear of that place.
So Mortimer went flying ’round
Exploring as he may,
And came upon a Kalu’ak
Outside of Unu’pe.
The Tuskarr greeted him and said,
“Hail, wyvern! Frabjous day!”
The wyvern landed near; the Tuskarr
Said, “Now let us see –
I feel that in my travels
I could use some company.
So, wyvern, let me ask you,
Would you like to come with me?”
The friendly Mortimer just gave
A nod and then a bark;
He figured that he might as well
Go with him as a lark.
And so away from Unu’pe
The pair did disembark.
The Tuskarr and the Mortimer
Went strolling in a rank,
Across the Geyser Fields and past
Airstrip of Fizzlecrank
(Where Mortimer left for the gnomes
Some droppings as a prank).
Along the northern coast they found
A village, and therein,
A mob of mumbling Murlocs
From the tribe of Winterfin.
The Tuskarr said, “Aha! And so
Our fun can now begin!”
“Hail, Murlocs!” said the Tuskarr
As the Murloc ranks increased.
“Good day!” he said; they gathered
As the village was policed.
“And since we’re friends, good Murlocs,
We’ll make you a quite fine feast!”
The unsuspecting Murlocs beamed.
“Tell me, have you a pot?”
And at the Tuskarr’s question
A great cauldron out was brought.
The Tuskarr set his pack down
And said, “Now, what have I got?”
The Tuskarr opened up his pack
And set aside his hat.
He started to unpack some herbs,
Vegetables, bacon fat.
“Now while the water boils,
Murlocs, let’s have a little chat.”
So Mortimer just sat nearby –
A curious scene, he thought.
The Tuskarr sliced some carrots
And tossed them into the pot.
Some onions, too, and celery,
While all of it grew hot.
“The time has come,” the Tuskarr said,
“To talk of many things:
Of pigs—of guns—of crab fishwives—
Of eggmen and Lich Kings,
Of countless Kael’thas setbacks,
And of why fey dragons sing.”
“Grr-blrrrrgll-grarrrrlllllb,” the Murlocs said;
The Tuskarr said, “Indeed!
Another fine point, Murlocs,
Oh, that I will concede.”
“Brrrr-blarrrrrbgggll,” said the Murlocs;
Mortimer paid little heed.
“Aha!” the Tuskarr said, “It seems
The cooking broth is done!
We’re ready to begin!” But then
He saw he’d have no fun.
For Mortimer already, well,
Had eaten every one.
The Tuskarr grew so very mad
And cried, “You little twerp!”
He hardly could believe his plan
The wyvern would usurp.
And Mortimer just shrugged and then
Let out a little burp.
Thus concludes our charming tale
Of Murloc genocide,
Of wyvern walrus wandering
And fish-man woe betide.
A happier ending I don’t think
I ever could provide.
EPIC VERSE!
[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]
Monday Mailbag
Don’t forget to make your last-minute suggestions for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge this week! The last installment was the Sylvanas poem from Friday, so be sure to put your ideas in the comments there. In the meantime, let’s have a look at this week’s mail…
Since you’ve shown an interest in this week’s Noblegarden activities, I thought you might want to know about some rather…strange events going on around them. Down here in Bloodhoof Village, many of us have been engaging in the traditional egg hunts. As you probably already know, some of those eggs are magical, and when gathered they spawn several bunnies. So fairly early on in the holiday season, the village ends up being filled with dozens of these little rabbits, hopping around all over the place and going about their business.
That much is fine, it’s part of the holiday and we don’t mind the rabbits at all. The problem is that this year, we’re having an extra, unexpected guest whom we weren’t expecting. A few days into Noblegarden, the forest nymph Mylune, whom I think you’ve met, showed up unannounced and…well…just started going nuts. Not violent nuts or anything, she just saw all the bunnies and flipped. She’s been scampering around the village hugging as many rabbits as she can herd together, talking baby talk to them, and squealing on and on every time she sees more of them.
She’s not bothering anyone, really, just minding her own bunny-hugging business, and I can’t say she’s doing any harm. We tauren generally are on good terms with the dryads, so I don’t think we’re going to have any real trouble with her. It’s just…really weird. So I thought you might want to know what was happening.
–Maur Raincaller, Bloodhoof Village
Huh. Well, Maur, as long as she’s not actually causing any real problems, this might be one that we just let sit. Not to stick you guys with her charming company down there in Bloodhoof Village, but honestly? After last time, I’m not going anywhere near that chick. You should be fine, the holiday’s over now so she’ll probably go home soon enough, just make sure your newbie druids down there don’t try shifting into animal forms while she’s around. And you might want to tell any hunters you’ve got to keep their distance if they have pets. Oh and also, it might be a little inconvenient, I know, but you might want to give your windrider master a day or two off and just close down the flight path. I know from experience the wyverns probably aren’t going to get a lot done while she’s around, and your flight master will probably appreciate being spared the headaches. And possible bosom-clasp bruises.
How come people always be makin’ a big deal about dese death knights? I be pwnin’ dem down here in de Echo Isles ever since dey started seein’ dey trainers here.
–Bob, Echo Isles
Um, okay, first of all, idiot, there ARE no death knight trainers in the Echo Isles. There aren’t any baby death knights running around the junior league training areas like Echo Isles or Razor Hill or whatever. Because – NEWS FLASH, dimwit – all the death knights in the Horde are former Knights of the Ebon Blade, who were turned into death knights by Arthas back in the day, so the ONLY place they can train is in their own damn floaty city out in the Eastern Plaguelands. Which you would KNOW if you didn’t have your head jammed so far up your ass that you don’t have any fucking idea what’s going on AROUND you.
Which brings me to my next point. Dude, what the fuck is up with you? Seriously. Every few weeks I get some letter from you where you’re asking about some shit that absolutely anybody with a brain already knows, and half the time you’ve got something cringe-inducingly WRONG, so like, really, what’s your deal? Did you just get dropped on your head like eight thousand times? Did you, Dontrag, and Utvoch draw straws to see who got how much of the one brain you’ve got between you all, only you wound up with nothing because you lost focus and stuck your straws in your nose and started cracking yourself up making walrus noises? Or did you put on a bear suit for who the fuck knows what reason, then made the bad decision to drop by Hyjal, and next thing you knew that aforementioned prancy head case Mylune ran up and started squeezing you till she literally made you shit your brain right out? Because I’m really trying to figure you out, and I’m not coming up with much of anything other than something like that.
I tell you, I give Vol’jin a lot of crap, but spirits help him if this is the kind of wall-to-wall hired help he’s got to choose from down there.
I’m not quite sure how to begin, or even if you would want to hear from me. I’m sorry that I haven’t tried to contact you until now. I hope that in the end you’ll understand why.
When the red pox tore through our people in Nagrand, you and I were both afflicted, like most of the rest of the Mag’har. It was probably so long ago that you barely even remember it, if you do at all. I remember it well. I remember how sick you became. But I knew you would make it through. Even then, you were strong. You were always so strong.
Eventually the healers of Garadar began to cure our people of the red pox. Bit by bit, our little forgotten village began to recover. My symptoms, though, continued undiminished, no matter what our shamans did. Worse yet, in a few cases, those who had been cured found themselves reinfected after being around me, only this time with symptoms that were far more severe, and resisted all attempts at treatment. Almost without exception, they died.
I, on the other hand, lived on, suffering but alive, as if the pox and I were locked in a stalemate: me too strong to die, the disease too strong to fade. The shamans decided that somehow I had become a carrier for a far more virulent strain of that hateful disease.
In time, Garadar recovered, and I was the only one left, with no end to the pox in sight. More and more, those who came close to me found themselves infected. And more and more quickly, those who fell infected would die.
In time I decided that I could not remain a burden to our people. I exiled myself from the Mag’har, taking up shelter in a small hovel hidden away in the mountains near the Ancestral Grounds. When time and illness finally took me, I thought, at least I would be close to our sacred place. Perhaps the spirits would help guide me to the next life.
I disappeared quietly one night. At my urging, Greatmother Geyah told the village that the pox had finally taken me. In the eyes of Garadar, I had died. Only a handful of the elders knew the truth.
Years passed. The pox carried on unabated. So did I. All the while, I watched from afar as best I could. I watched as the demons’ hold on our once-beautiful world waned. I watched as the Mag’har slowly regathered themselves. And I watched you, Garrosh. I watched you grow up, strong as you always were, a man before your years, denied the luxury of a childhood. And I watched you live in a self-made purgatory forged of your father’s sins.
It broke my heart.
Years more passed, and you left Draenor to pursue a new life. A better life, I prayed.
Then, not long ago, a group of healers found me in my mountain refuge. I did not know them, and their garments were of a make unfamiliar to me. They were not of the Mag’har, some not even orcs. I do not know how they knew to find me, but they claimed to have new medicines from the world the orcs had taken up as their new home. While they could not offer a cure, they claimed they could contain the pox enough to prevent its spread. Under their treatment, the disease would no longer be airborne, only contagious by contact. A small comfort, but now at least, they said, the pain of the disease need not be compounded by the misery of solitude.
In time, I decided to risk revealing myself. I returned to Garadar, to the welcoming embrace of Greatmother Geyah.
In the days since my return, she has updated me on much that has transpired in my absence. The war, the internment, the demise of Mannoroth and the lifting of the blood haze. But most of all she told me of you. Strong and proud. A hero of a faraway war, fought against the icy talons of death itself. A leader of men, and now, Warchief of our people.
I do not wish anything from you, Garrosh. I have decided to reach out to you now only that you might finally know the truth, and know that I am so very, very proud of you. Do honor to our people and lead them well. As I always have, in this life or the next, I will be watching over you.
Love always, my Garrosh,
–Lakkara, Nagrand
Um…
<blink>
<stare>
…Mom?
Go East, young orc
This might seem a little overdue, but I’ve been thinking lately that after Zaela turned out to be doing…sort of…an iffy job keeping the Dragonmaw on task out there in the Twilight Highlands, it might be a good idea for me to start paying a few inspection visits to some of our outposts out in the Eastern Kingdoms. Keep the field commanders on their toes, inspire the troops, all that good stuff.
Thing is, though, traveling around most places in the Eastern Kingdoms is seriously a giant pain in the ass. Okay, we’ve got a convenient portal from Orgrimmar to Dragonmaw Port, but beyond that it gets pretty dicey. Yeah, I could have mages open portals for me to locations over there, and I’ve been known to do that now and then in emergencies, but see, most of our committed mages here in Orgrimmar are trolls. When there’s an actual emergency going on, or it’s urgent that I get somewhere quickly for something important, like say that time I had to take the fast track to Krom’gar in Stonetalon, they’re fine…but short of that, half the time they just take it as an occasion to fuck with me. Portals to the wrong places, or worse yet, they’ll play portal roulette – put up three or four or five portals all right on top of each other, so I’m not sure which one I’m taking until I’ve gone through. So yeah, it’s an option, but it’s a damn annoying one.
So other than Dragonmaw Port, pretty much anywhere else you wind up having to take a boat or a zeppelin, and I don’t exactly have a great track record with either one of those. Plus then I have to make arrangements to bring Mortimer out there with me, because let me tell you, the flight path options out there are some slim pickings. Not a whole lot of wyverns to choose from, and even the ones they have aren’t much of a match for the sturdy Kalimdor stock. And beyond junior varsity wyverns? You’ve got giant bats, which are a little short on the steady and a long on the bitey for my tastes. And I’m sorry, there’s just no fucking way in hell you’re ever going to see me riding around on a dragonhawk. Not least of all because most of them look like they would snap in two if I ever actually sat on them.
So, point being, if I’m going to take the trouble to go out there at all, I want to make sure I’m making the best possible use of my time. Since many of you guys are out there fighting the good fight in the outer territories, I figured it might be helpful to check with you first – what regions of the Eastern Kingdoms do you think would benefit most from having me drop in and Warchief it up?
The Awesome League of Awesome
As promised, here’s the result of this latest poll for the newest EPIC VERSE topic. So, with no further ado…BECAUSE YOU DEMANDED IT!
Where to go! What to do!
So much to explore.
Johnny Awesome on the move,
Always seeking more.
He keeps clearing each zone faster,
Tanaris, the last one to go:
Yet another triumph, although
Thousand Needles was disaster.
Now he’s questing with a reputation to restore.
Garrosh really wants him dead,
Really hates that elf.
Put a bounty on his head,
How he’s by himself.
Hold your horses, no complaining
That he screwed up on that last run.
Magatha, she pulled a fast one
Now he’s got few friends remaining.
Just because he freed one traitor from the Twilight Shelf.
Johnny Awesome headed north
Flying through the Barrens.
But as he was setting forth
It became apparent
He had work to do here – rescue!
Some poor undead rogue was dying:
Swarmed by quillboar, he was trying,
But perhaps he merely was new.
Or perhaps dropped on his dead by inattentive parents.
Either way, he needed saving –
Johnny Awesome to the fray!
The undead was smiling, waving,
As the quillboar fled away.
Johnny Awesome: “My work here’s done.”
“HI I’M DUMASS!” “Um, okay.”
“LET’S BE FRIENDS!” “No, go away.”
“OH OKAY! WHERE ARE WE GOING?”
This was when he realized that he’d have a real long day.
“So, Dumass,” J.A. did say
And fought the urge to kill,
“Why the Barrens?” “OH OKAY!
I’M GOING TO TARREN MILL!”
“Wait, Dumass, where did you come from?”
“SILVERPINE AND HILLSBRAD, SIR!”
“Tarren Mill was where you were.”
Blank stare. “Fitting name there, Dum.”
And Dumass just smiled and nodded while his brain stood still.
“Well, I’ll let you travel on,”
Johnny Awesome said.
“OH OKAY! SO WHERE TO, JOHN?”
“…or come with me instead.”
Johnny Awesome sighed so forlorn.
“Well then, let’s head to Winterspring.”
“WOW WE’RE GOING TO KILL THE LICH KING?”
Frosted flake pursues Frostmourne.
“…Let’s just hope that bounty means that soon I will be dead.”
Up to Winterspring they flew,
Seeking thrills and danger.
But Johnny Awesome really knew
That things would just get stranger.
In the mountains, climbing higher,
Till they came upon a cave.
Hiding place of some vile knave?
Monsters? Dragons breathing fire?
Surely there would be rewards from those they would endanger.
When flying upon a frost wyrm
Came someone he’d seen before:
An orc warrior, hardly infirm,
Landing on a node of ore.
“OMG THE LICH KING!” Dumass
Cried out as the orc was mining.
“Where?” the orc cried, “A defining
Triumph shall be mine at last!”
Meanwhile Johnny Awesome palmed his face an instance more.
“Huh, no Lich King?” the orc grumbled,
Staring down this elf naysayer.
“Bet he’s hiding,” next he mumbled.
“I am Orkus – the Kingslayer!”
“Greetings, Orkus—” “HI! I’M DUMASS!”
“I am Johnny Awesome, sir.”
Orkus answered, “I’ll infer
You’re the brains here.” “HI! I’M DUMASS!”
“..Meanwhile I would guess your friend here’s Stupidville’s new mayor.”
Before Johnny Awesome answered,
Skulking out from in the cave
Came a yeti, lone advancer –
No warning or sound he gave.
“It’s attacking!” “Hurry! Kill it!”
“OMG! A DRAGON!” “What?”
No move made the yeti, but
They smelled blood and they would spill it.
Thus the yeti’s early rise might mean an early grave:
Hardly had the yeti woken,
So he found this a surprise.
His defense was scarcely token,
Looking ’round with sleepy eyes.
Just the same, the fight took ages.
None of them could land a blow.
Swinging, missing, tripping, so
To give the details would take pages.
So we’ll TL;DR for the poor yeti’s demise.
Finally the yeti stumbled
In a hulking lifeless heap.
Orkus yelled, “Vile beast! Be humbled!
Yeah, that’s right. Don’t make a peep.”
“Hey, you know, this has me thinking,”
Johnny Awesome said at last.
“We sure kicked that yeti’s ass
(Even granted I’ve been twinking),
If we stayed a team, just think the benefits we’d reap.”
“YAY! I HAVE TWO FRIENDS!” said Dumass.
Not suspecting they might toss ’im.
“As a group,” said Orkus, “en masse,
No more fleeing or playing possum!”
Johnny Awesome nodded, beaming:
“We could take the world by storm!”
“Wipe out every beastly swarm!”
“End all villains’ evil scheming!
Look out, Azeroth, here comes the Awesome League of Awesome!”
“Just one thing,” said Orkus, “Any
Chance you’ve got a healing spec?
I took a few hits there – well, many.”
“Sorry, no.” “Eh, what the heck.
It can wait till we get going
Back to town, and heal up there.”
“Let’s go. Soon, evil beware!”
Johnny Awesome’s pride was glowing.
And the trio gathered up to start their homeward trek.
Off they marched with scarce attention
To a shadow in the sky:
Far beyond their apprehension
What was coming, much less why.
Down upon them swooped a wyvern!
“En garde!” “Fight him off!” “YES SIR!”
Now go get ’im, Mortimer!
Alas, though, he did not discern
Who was who correctly when he landed his bullseye.
“I’ve got aggro!” Orkus bellowed.
But before they could decide
How to help him, he was mangled:
Down he went and there he died.
“It got Orkus! Kill it!” Johnny
Awesome yelled, but not in time.
Mortimer did swiftly climb
Into the air, and then was gone.
And from nowhere, “YAY! WE KILLED THE LICH KING!” Dumass cried.
EPIC VERSE!
Of wyverns and pine cones
Just dropped by the Sanctuary of Malorne on my way around Mount Hyjal and paid a visit to Hamuul Runetotem, who’s overseeing the reforestation efforts there. I brought a few men with me for the trip, including Mokvar, so, y’know, transcript incoming…
GARROSH: Hamuul, I’m glad you’re doing better these days.
HAMUUL: As compared to being burned alive, or as compared to crawling out from under a pile of my friends’ corpses in a mass grave?
GARROSH: Um…yes?
HAMUUL: I’ve been worse.
GARROSH: Uh…yeah. So while I’m here, I wanted to—
Mylune, an overly energetic dryad, scampers in and starts hugging Mortimer frantically. Mortimer appears generally confused but doesn’t put up much of a fight.
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhhh aren’t you just the cutest thing?! You’re a good wittle wyvern, aren’t you? Yes you are! Yes you are! Ohhhhhhhh you’re so precious!
GARROSH: Um, what’s this?
HAMUUL: That’s Mylune, one of the Guardians. She’s been helping with the recovery up at the Grove of Aessina and here at the Regrowth…
MYLUNE: So furry and handsome and such a good boy! Yes you are! You are! Oh yes you are, Mr. Wyvern…
GARROSH: Is she always like this?
MYLUNE: OOH! Now don’t be like that, Mr. Bitey-Pants, you know Autie Luney just want to wuv you! Like this!
She squeezes her arms around Mortimer extra tight, despite his growing efforts to pull away.
HAMUUL: <long pause> Yes.
GARROSH: Oh.
HAMUUL: Mmhmm.
GARROSH: Well then.
MYLUNE: …with your scruffy-wuffy mane and your handsome coat and – OOH, what big teeth you have, now I told you, Mr. Wyvern…
GARROSH: Look, if you have to drive him bonkers, could you at least just call him by his actual name and not this Mr. Wyvern crap?
MYLUNE: <squeezing Mortimer giddily> Oooooh, what’s his name?
GARROSH: His name is Mortimer, and—
MYLUNE: <holding Mortimer by his face and wiggling it side to side> Oh that’s a funny name, isn’t it Mr. Mortimer? Isn’t it? <nodding Mortimer’s head in her hands> Yes it is! Yes it is!
GARROSH: Can you STOP that? And what the hell’s wrong with his name?
MYLUNE: Ohhh… <eyes go creepily wide> Is he your wyvern, Mr. Warchief?
GARROSH: Yes, why do you—OOF!
In one rapid motion, Mylune releases Mortimer, grabs Garrosh, and clasps him to her bosom, swaying side to side energetically.
MYLUNE: Ohhhh aren’t wyverns just that most wonderful, flappytastical creatures?!
GARROSH: <wriggling around to try to pull away, without much success> THE FUCK is your problem?!
MYLUNE: Such beautiful, wonderful, majestic creatures of the sky! <eyes glistening happily> They’re just so magnificent! And you have one of your very own!
GARROSH: Uh, Mokvar, a little help here?
MOKVAR: Too busy writing, boss.
GARROSH: DAMMIT, MOKVAR!
MYLUNE: <still swaying side to side with Garrosh clasped to her bosom> Oh I wish I had a wyvern friend of my very own! I would hug him and pet him and squeeze him and love him and I would call him George!
GARROSH: The fuck, you’re giving him shit for “Mortimer,” but apparently “George” is—
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh and I would love him so much! You’re so so lucky to have a wyvern friend of your very very own, Mr. Orc!
Mylune keeps Garrosh pressed against her with one arm while grabbing Mortimer again with the other, and pulls the wyvern to her despite its plaintive yelps.
MYLUNE: The very very bestest of furry flappy friends! It’s just so beautiful!
GARROSH: <finally pulls out of her grip> What. THE FUCK. Is your DAMAGE? And will you STOP squeezing him like that, before you squish his head or something? He’s already kind of skittish from getting beaten as it is!
MYLUNE: <stares at Garrosh with eyes welling up with tears> He…he was beaten?
GARROSH: <exasperated sigh> Yeah, he was, and he was stuck on the long haul from Silithus to Winterspring before I—
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhh that poor sweet fuzzy growly thing, you mean he’s a rescue wyvern too?!
GARROSH: I… Well so to speak, now that you mention it there were a couple times in Stonetalon and then in Twilight High—GAH!!!
With a sudden, gleeful squeal, Mylune releases Mortimer and grabs Garrosh with both hands, pulling him to her and planting a big, loud kiss on him before hugging him tightly.
MYLUNE: Oh thank you, Mr. Orc! Thank for saving the poor dear sweet beautiful wyvern from harm! So so much! Oh it makes me so happy!
GARROSH: <gasping and spitting> THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, LADY?! And why do you taste like fucking pine cones?!
MYLUNE: <keeps rocking back and forth hugging Garrosh against her> Ohhh silly Mr. Orcie! Doesn’t it just make you feel all warm and gooey inside knowing you’ve made a poor innocent animal safe and happy!
GARROSH: <spits again> Seriously, pine cones! Hell, I’m half surprised you don’t taste like fucking maple syrup!
MYLUNE: Why? Did Jaina say something?
GARROSH: Why would…okay, you know what, I’m not even going to. Fuck it. And… <shoves her away forcefully and steps back> STOP. FUCKING. GRABBING PEOPLE. Fucking hell, Hamuul, how do you put up with this shit?
HAMUUL: <long pause> With copious ale and quiet resignation.
GARROSH: And hey, you’re a druid, right?
HAMUUL: There have been rumors to that effect.
GARROSH: Um…okay. So listen, dude, whatever you do, don’t go into one of your animal forms around this chick, you know?
HAMUUL: I know.
GARROSH: Because seriously, if she—
HAMUUL: No. You don’t understand. I know.
GARROSH: …Ah.
HAMUUL: Mmhmm.
MYLUNE: Oh Hamuul, don’t you be all Mr. Grumpyhooves just because you’re an extra super cuddly kitty cat!
GARROSH: Seriously, shouldn’t you be up in Silvermoon pledging a sorority and dotting your I’s with little hearts or something?
MYLUNE: Oh no, silly Mr. Warchief, I never dot my I’s with hearts!
GARROSH: Why do I get the feeling…
MYLUNE: I wouldn’t want the other poor letters to feel like I don’t love them too!
GARROSH: …Yep.
HAMUUL: It’s been…a slow process here.
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh look, a woodchuck! Isn’t he the sweetest and pudgiest and woodchuckerest little darling ever?
GARROSH: It’s like if Dontrag and Utvoch had a kid. Made of pink.
HAMUUL: Who?
GARROSH: Count yourself lucky.
MYLUNE: <hugging the woodchuck, who seems none too thrilled about the situation> So furry and cuddly and squirmy and fuzzy and SQUEE!
GARROSH: Hey, listen, Miley or whatever the fuck your name is, did you hear about the fires in Ashenvale?
MYLUNE: What? Fires?
GARROSH: Yeah, there was a huge fire in Ashenvale. All the deer and squirrels and bear cubs and…like…chipmunks with funny hats that you probably have a conniption over, they all fucking BURNED.
MYLUNE: <wide-eyed shock> They…they…
GARROSH: <aside to Runetotem> That oughta shut her up for a while.
HAMUUL: I don’t know if you thought this through.
MYLUNE: The…cute little animals…burned…?
Mylune’s eyes well up with tears, she throws her head back, and she starts to wail despondently. Her near-deafening crying grows louder and higher-pitched, climbing in octaves into a piercing screech. After a few seconds, her voice becomes inaudible, but she continues standing in place, visibly crying. A moment later, wolves begin howling in the distance.
GARROSH: Uh oh.
HAMUUL: As I said.
GARROSH: I…should maybe get going.
HAMUUL: Probably.
GARROSH: Yeah. I think I need to go stab a bunny or something.
HAMUUL: Thanks for making light of things being burned alive, by the way. That was thoughtful.
Awkward.
You know, I’m starting to wonder if I should just stop bringing Mokvar places, because seriously, every time I have him with me it seems like some idiotic shit keeps happening.
I still have more work do to here in Hyjal, but I’m in no mood to deal with it after all that bullshit, so I think I’m just going to go check in at Nordrassil and try to do some writing to relax before I get going again. I still have a new EPIC VERSE to finish up (no, I haven’t forgotten) so hopefully I’ll get that up for you guys pretty quick. Stay tuned.
And fucking hell. Seriously.
“I don’t know what he was complaining about. He tasted like cheap beer and arrested development.”
Monday mailbag
Before I get to the mail, I just wanted to mention the results are in for this latest round of You Choose the Next EPIC VERSE. I’m working on the latest masterpiece now and I’m going to try to have it posted this week, so stay tuned!
Now for the letters. Just a semi-quick mailbag this week, but a couple doozies…
About a month ago A Concerned Citizen wrote in to complain about the mistreatment of a Hippogryph he had received by post. Unfortunately, I don’t think this was an isolated incident — in fact, there may be a serious problem. Last week I received a similar crate in the mail. There were postmarks from at least 20 different places and it must have been in transit for weeks. The crate was emitting a terrible stench, but I braced myself and pryed it open anyway. As I feared, the poor wyvern was long deceased, its corpse in an advanced state of decay. It was the most appalling and enraging thing I have ever had the misfortune to see first hand. I cannot imagine the suffering of that poor creature as it was shunted from one place to another.
I stood stunned for a moment in shock and horror, (and was seriously considering joining DEHTA myself), when suddenly the most amazing thing happened — I felt something nuzzle my hand. I nearly jumped out of my skin! It was then that I realised there WAS something in that crate! A ghostly wyvern stood in the box, so translucent to be nearly invisible. Thing is, despite being incorporeal he can still interact with the physical world to some extent, so he can be petted, confined to a padlock, and even ridden just like a normal wyvern! I’m not sure how this is possible, but I think it might be because the poor beast doesn’t realise he’s dead. (For instance, he still likes me to feed him wyvern chow. He doesn’t actually consume it, but he makes eating motions around it and seems satisfied afterward. To save on gold I found a bunch of kibble-shaped rocks and put those in his dish and he doesn’t seem to have noticed the difference.) It’s taking a while to get used to flying around on a mount that is, for all practical intents and purposes, invisible. However, it sure is fun to watch all the jaws dropping as I fly by!
But the reason I write you, Warchief, is that I don’t think this is an isolated incident. Over the past week I’ve seen other people seemingly flying around without a mount. It’s hard to tell for sure, but I think people all over Azeroth are receiving deceased mounts in the mail. I even think I caught a glimpse of a spectral gryphon flying past me yesterday! I’m not sure what’s going on, but if members of both the Horde and the Alliance are getting dead mounts delivered to them, perhaps there has been a severe breakdown in our postal service worldwide! I know that wyverns have a place in your heart, so I thought you might want to look into this matter and perhaps prevent the further suffering of these noble creatures.
Respectfully yours,
–Kashina.
PS: I’m attaching a photo of my poor deceased wyvern. I hope he shows up well enough on that background.
This…just…wow. I mean I know I was never on particularly good terms with old Antlers McBeardyface, but even for him, this is just…yeah, that’s just sick.
What’s just as bad is that APPARENTLY our old friend Lather-on-us up in DEHTA-land couldn’t be bothered to do anything about this, even after ACC’s original letter last month, but spirits forbid I make a passing reference to browsing in a store for a leather jacket, cause then I get a dozen granola-crunchy druids picketing outside Grommash Hold and starting letter-writing campaigns and throwing buckets of fucking blood at me.
But yeah, enough is enough with this shit. I still can’t figure out how these people got it into their heads that sending mounts in the mail was any kind of good idea, but whatever. It’s time to start cracking down. So for starters, effective immediately, I’m going to start tightening up security in all our wyvern breeding grounds. Overlord Cliffwalker’s been doing a good job clamping down on the Grimtotem up in Stonetalon, so I’ll see about him assigning some more patrols for the wyverns nests there, and I’m pretty sure we can shift some troops over to Highperch in Thousand Needles now that the Twilight’s Hammer isn’t nearly so active down there.
Meanwhile, obviously if we mean business doing something about some brainstorm sending dead wyverns and gryphons C.O.D., I figure we’re going to need a point person to coordinate things. So, consider yourself volunteered, Kashina. I’m appointing you Commissioner of Stop Being a Complete Douche-Tard. Grats. And yes, Antlers, we’re talking to you.
Recently I was doing some errands for the Violet Eye – sweeping ghosts out of the ruins of Karazhan and suchlike – when I killed a big ol’ demon and discovered he had your axe in his pockets. Do you want it back? What’s Prince Malchezaar doing with Gorehowl anyway?
Regards,
–Elder Ciaroscuro (not a Lunar Festival Elder)
Hoo boy. Here we go again.
Yeah, if you could send that back here, Ciaroscuro (and by the way that was a BASTARD to type), that would be great. There’s been some really weird magical bullshit going on with that axe for a while. I’ll try to explain what I can.
So after my father Grom killed Mannoroth, and lost his own life in the process, the explosion that burst out of Mannoroth’s body sent the axe flying and embedded the blade into the nearby rocks. It got flung into the rocks with so much force that even Mr. OMG I’M SO AWESOME LOOK AT ME Thrall apparently couldn’t pull it out, either that or it didn’t even occur to him to look around for it, either then OR when he went back to put up Grom’s memorial, because I can’t think of a third option as to why Thrall would ever FUCKING EVER come back without Grom’s axe.
Some point later, Malchezaar came to Azeroth and turned up in Demon Fall Canyon. None of the other lesser demons there had ever been able to yank to axe out of the rocks, and they generally kept their distance, seeing as having the axe that killed their head honcho right there was probably kind of creepy. But, Malchezaar figured it would be a pretty good trophy for him to pick up for that very reason, and so after some doing he managed to yank it out of the stone. Apparently, by the way, he made a big deal about the fact that he was the one that managed to pull the axe out, and how that was an omen that he was destined for greatness and to be king of the demons and what-have-you, and by the way THAT’S when he started calling himself PRINCE Malchezaar, pretentious fucker.
So anyway, he heads off to Karazhan to take up shop. Only that top level of Karazhan where he hung out was in some weird kind of pocket dimension thingy, like the very top of the tower was poking into someplace called Netherspace, sort of dipping into the Twisted Nether but not quite, or some weird shit like that. I’m not too clear on the nuts and bolts of it. But, point is, it’s this strange little pocket of time and space where…well…time and space don’t quite work the normal way. And that’s where we get into the deal with Gorehowl.
So, Malchezaar had Gorehowl, right? And at some point some Horde adventurers went in there and handed him his ass, and got Gorehowl from his body, and somehow or other it found its way back to Thrall, who gave it to me. So far so good. But every so often, the freaky bizarro zone up there kicks in, and sets off some kind of a time loop. So all of a sudden, Mechazzar is up and kicking again, and he’s got Gorehowl back on him, and what do you know, poof, wherever Gorehowl WAS, it’s not there anymore. Because it got time-loop-reset back up to Prince Fancypants up there in Karazhan.
I once tried to ask Nozdormu how this whole time loopy thing could even be possible, and he rambled on at like 90 miles an hour, and just shrugged and said “wibbly wobbly, timey whimy” and looked at me like I just asked why water was wet. So no help there.
So anyway…yeah. Every so often, the axe goes poof on me, and I end up having to send a group up to Karazhan to get it back again. Which, let me tell you, is a huge pain in the ass. I’m just dreading the day when Malchezaar’s little time loop thingy resets while I’m actually in the MIDDLE of battle somewhere, and have my damn axe vanish on me mid-swing. I have to remember to start bringing a backup, actually.
On a completely separate note, I just got my first application for the new Earth Online guild, <Warchief>. Let’s have a look at our new aspiring member…
Character Name:
£õk†årøgâr
Class and Level:
Stock Broker
Talent Spec (please discuss any unusual talent choices):
0/0/41 Execution/Advisory/Discretionary Was execution but fuck that shit u gots no power and kill nothing. vry misleading name, discertionary do it all
What do you enjoy most about your class?
money money money buy the best toys and other class beg 4 help n buffs
Previous guilds and why you left:
Scum of the Earth, guild leader give his girl all the phat lootz n she like cant play so drama killed that one
Something Wicked, kicked from this one dunno why
High Finance, cant take a fkn joke. long story.
Previous raiding experience:
yes
Any time restrictions that might affect your raid availability:
i haveto be in bed by 11
Um…okay.
Actually, no, not okay.
First of all, I’m going to try not to dwell on the crazy letters in his name, but…yeah. Look, dude, you’re really overestimating how hard I’m willing to work to contact you in-game or send you a guild invite. If I can’t just fucking TYPE your name, then the odds of me sending you a whisper or an invite or whatever drops way, way down. I don’t speak alt-code.
Also…um…
You know what, I’m not even going to try to go through point for point and break down the problems with this guy. Not even the retard leet-speak. Reading it once had made my head hurt enough as it is. So I’m just going to make an executive decision and say, oops, sorry, turns out our raids all START at 11:00, so I guess that rules us out. Good luck in your search…um…Guy Whose Asshat Name I’m Not Even Going to Try to Transliterate.
Odds and ends
Nothing too major going on today, so I figured I’d just update on a few random things. I’ll be honest, too, I just haven’t gotten around to looking through the mail yet, so we’re going to hold off on a mailbag for now. I know, I know, don’t worry, I’ll get one posted soon.
Some of you might remember a ways back when this kid Gurtash wrote in to the mailbag and I agreed to let him help out taking care of Mortimer. I haven’t mentioned him since then, but man, the kid’s been hanging around here all the time. He’s a nice enough kid, don’t get me wrong, he’s just always in the neighborhood. Turns out that was kind of handy, since he was able to help take care of Mortimer a lot while I was out of commission a couple months ago (well, until Mortimer flew off, but that’s a whole other story). Anyway, Mortimer seems to have taken a shine to him too, so lately rather than letting him hover around Grommash Hold, I’ve been letting him “walk” Mortimer – by which I mean take him out for a ride on the pretense of getting him his daily exercise. Of course, Gurtash really doesn’t have the foggiest idea about riding, so it’s really more like Mortimer taking HIM for a walk. Which it pretty much is. But like I said, he keeps the kid busy, and he seems happy enough with it.
In other news… There’ve been a good number of votes so far for my next EPIC VERSE – if you haven’t yet, make sure you get your vote in. I’ll give it a few more days before I call an end to the voting and settle on a topic.
Also, it occurred to me that the last few days while I’ve been talking about the guild I’m forming on Earth Online, I forgot to mention the name I’m giving it. In a way, in fact, we’ve got Manageurdeath to thank for this – since he was all “Oh yeah, sure you’re Garrosh, oh yeah, right, uh huh, you’re the Warchief,” guess what we’re calling this guild?
You guessed it.
<Warchief>.
Personally I think that’ll actually look kind of cool over my head, gotta say.
Monday mailbag
Well it looks like we’re finally back to mail that’s just for ME, now that the bottomless pile of Saurfang fan mail is out of the way. So, let’s get right to it…
This is an open letter to the Archdruids Malfurion Stormrage and Lathorius. It involves the former’s recent mistreatment of a Flameward Hippogryph.
I don’t really have a “day job” as such. I do odd jobs for people like the Dragonmaw Clan, the Protectors of Hyjal, and I’m good enough to earn a fairly decent living at it. Lately, that’s involved a fair bit of time on the Molten Front. Archdruid Stormrage recently saw fit to reward my service with a gift of sorts. Anyway, I get home to my Silvermoon pad one day, and there’s a package waiting for me. I said “package”, it was actually more like a crate, with air holes in it. The postmarks read, “Mount Hyjal”, then “Darnassus”, then “Ratchet”, then “Booty Bay”, and finally, “Silvermoon”. Goblin Post, Fourth Rate. It was at this point that I noticed a whimpering coming from inside the crate.
Now, this is going to sound damned odd coming from a man who joined up with the Blood Knights back when the first lesson on the syllabus was “How To Punch A Captive Naaru In The Jumblies”, but…
Stormrage, you sick bastard, WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!? What on Azeroth possessed you to decide that this was a good idea? Surely, you could have sent it Express. Or, you probably know a mage or two. Or, left a note that I could pick him up next time I was over by Nordrassil. But Goblin Post? Fourth Rate? That’s just WRONG.
Then again, I have no idea why I’m surprised. What else would you expect of a man who’d stand by examining his fingernails while forty Horde raiders curb-stomp his wife?
For what it’s worth, Ted’s doing great. (I named him for Tederastrasz, a dragon I met over in Twilight Highlands.) I don’t normally like to ride animals. I usually prefer the throaty roar of a pair of Yoyodyne-Gadgetzan turboprops and the rhythmic thump of a well-balanced rotor shaft. And the occasional autorotative descent into hostile territory? Just part of the spice that makes life worth living. But now I feel obliged to take Ted out for as much fresh air and sunshine as possible, and I have to say, I’m growing fond of his company. He still flinches a bit when he sees a crate, but he’s just about gotten over that.
Anyway, Lathorius? Your shan’do Stormrage could use a stern talking-to.
–A Concerned Citizen
Good to hear from you as always, ACC. Gotta say, that really is pretty sick, not to mention pretty surprising, considering how old Antlers McBeardyface likes to play himself up as like Grand Master Nature Boy Ultra. I mean, listen, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s no secret that I’m not above a little tough love when it comes to Horde mounts, for purposes of promoting discipline and the kind of toughness that the military life calls for. But I can also tell you, in no uncertain terms, every one of our worgs, kodos, wyverns, whatever, gets three squares a day, plenty of water, and at least enough room to stretch its legs and move around some. Not to mention that when they finally come up for retirement, they get an enormous feast before we slice them up into chops.
But yeah, taking an animal like that and shipping it around by slow mail in a crate? That’s just sick. Especially when you consider how much care those goblins DON’T take to observe the “Handle With Care” labels. Dude, you should have SEEN the shape my Champions of the Horde commemorative plates were in by the time they got to me, and those were even shipped THIRD class. I’m still looking for all the pieces of Rexxar. I don’t even want to THINK of what the fourth rate treatment would be.
Hopefully Lather-on-us will get right on this. He’d BETTER, actually, considering how quick he always is to get on my ass for something way less than this. All I’m gonna say is if he lets this thing slide with Antlers, I better not be getting another protest in my front yard the next time I order the veal.
Personally, if it were ME, I’d probably suggest keeping an eye on old Antlers until the next time he goes More Than Meets the Eye into one of his kajillion animal forms, then throw a net on him, shuffle him off into a nice tight crate, then ship him Super Slow Take Your Effing Time rate to his priestess chick. (Bonus points if she’s not able to sign for the package because she’s too busy getting curb-stomped at the time.)
Anyway, ACC, I’m glad you’re having a good time with Ted. Rescue mounts can have their quirks, no question about it, but over time it does get better, once they’ve had time to realize that they’re safe now. And remember, yeah, those roflcopters are cool and all, but a roflcopter can’t love.
By the same token, a roflcopter can’t get explosive diarrhea all over your new monogrammted sheets that your Greatmother sent you for your birthday. But life’s all about trade-offs, right?
Being that you are easier to contact than your predecessor, I thought this an appropriate time to place my thoughts, as it were, upon your plate. In particular, I wish to discuss your support for our efforts in Silithus.
While I realise that Kalimdor is a large continent and that Silithus is perhaps the most inhospitable and inaccessible area thereon, it remains a hotbed of activity for the Twilight’s Hammer cult. You yourself have seen this most recently, and I have had it impressed upon me that your recent requests for the stepping up of border patrols are vital to your present plans to deal with the Hammer. And so my druids and I will do all that we can, but… we are stretched thin.
In the time since the defeat of C’Thun, the flow of adventurers to this barren land has slowed to a trickle, and yet the Hammer becomes ever heavier, poised above these shifting sands. Why, I recently discovered that visitors to my command have of late been greeted by a representative of the Horde, who offers free magical transportation in order that your supporters might fight in some meaningless skirmish in a swamp on the other side of the world! Why can this service not be provided in order to send more aid to us in our time of need?
The sands of Silithus have seen much, but they are unique in Azeroth and still have much to offer to the brave. With the Cenarion druids largely occupied by certain troubles in Hyjal, I cannot even request aid from them. I am honour-bound to this post, and cannot abandon it. I am told that you value honour deeply. Will you then aid us?
–Commander Mar’alith, Silithus
Hey, Mar’alith, good to hear from you again. Also thanks for your help keeping the Twilight’s Hammer contained recently.
From the looks of it, your letter actually came in right about the same time I went out of commission for a little while, so hopefully in the intervening time things have gotten a little better. From what Saurfang tells me, while he was minding the shop, he came by with a few thousand friends and did a fair bit of Twilight smacking, so hopefully that put a dent in the problem. Still, I know those cultists can be like roaches – no matter how many you kill, there always seems to be tons more of them. (And you know, you wouldn’t really expect there to be THAT many crazy despairing suicidal lunatics ready to sign on to help destroy the world, would you? I mean, even if you assume the cult has a frigging amazing recruiting division, would you really figure they’d be able to drum up thousands upon thousands of these people like they do? Kind of makes you wonder about the world’s collective parenting skills, that we’ve got THAT many people turning out THAT damaged.)
I’ll try to do what I can for you, Mar’alith. As it stands, I put an announcement on all the command boards in Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff encouraging adventurers to head your way and help out, but apparently that hasn’t been having much of an effect. I’ll double check the boards to make sure the notices are visible enough – with my luck, the announcements got covered by someone’s ad for a futon for sale or guitar lessons or something, with the little straggly rip-off pieces at the bottom with the contact info.
Thing is, though, I’m not sure there’s a whole lot we can do to get people to head down to Silithus voluntarily. Sure, there’s the portal transport thing you mentioned, but when you come right down to it, it’s not like getting to Silithus is much more of a nuisance than traveling to Tanaris or Un’goro Crater or, hell, even Felwood. I’m not going to lie to you, Mar’alith, your place down there is just plain creepy. Lots of people get a bad case of the skitters just running a few errands around the Writhing Deep or the Slithering Scar – and Silithus is like one giant Slithering Scar turned up to eleven. People go there and then spend the next two weeks scratching because they keep imagining things crawling on them. Combine that with the fact that, let’s face it, it’s not exactly a treat for the eyes down there either, and come on…how many people do you really think we’re going to get down there rather than, say, walking in a Winterspring wonderland? I mean, hell, by the time most of our adventurers are strong enough to be much help to you down there, they’re usually all fired up to push righ on past Silithus and head out to Thrallmar in Outland. Seriously, have you ever BEEN to Hellfire Peninsula? Do you really understand the magnitude of people basically being like “Yay, Hellfire Peninsula!” rather than sticking around Silithus?
I’m open to ideas, but I’m thinking that pot’s going to have to be WAY sweeter before we see a whole lot of improvement…
Can anybody be explainin’ what “Dranosh” means?
–Bob, Echo Isles
No no no no, dude, you’ve gotta know better than to ask about that shit, all you’re going to do is open up a—
If you will pardon the interruption, Warchief, I believe I can field this inquiry. I suspect our elocutionarily eccentric correspondent is asking about the roots of the name of my dear, departed son.
Oh fuck, here we go. Again.
If you will allow me. Ahem.
We named him Dranosh. It means “Heart of Draenor” in orcish.
Okay, well that answers that question. Thanks for clearing that up, Saurfang, now we can—
I would not let the warlocks take him. My boy would be safe, hidden away by the elders of Garadar.
I made a promise to his mother before she died; that I would cross the Dark Portal alone – whether I lived or died, my son would be safe. Untainted…
Yeah, okay, terrific, that worked out just fantastic for all involved. Hey, hang on a second, how did you even get in here anyway? The fuck is this? You said when you gave the keys back you were just going to head back up to Northrend and not interfere with the goings-on back here with me.
Today, I fulfill that promise.
I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE. But I’m serious, how the hell are you even doing this? SPAZZLE!
Yeah, chief? What’s up?
I’ll TELL you what’s up, tech guy – Saurfang’s in here screwing around with the blog. I thought you had some kind of fucking security on this shit.
Huh, that’s weird. I’m not sure how he’d be able to—
I meant no offense, Warchief. It merely seemed the inquiry lent itself to an account of my own personal experience, and I felt as such it might be a boon to you…
Yes, Garrosh, he was only trying to help.
Hang on, wait a minute, who the fuck is THIS now?
Do you not recognize me, Warchief? You wound me. Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, at your service as always.
SYLVANAS?!
A pleasure to see you again, Dark Lady.
Hold on, you know her now?
And you as well, High Overlord. Congratulations once again on your successful albeit short-lived stewardship of the Horde. I was most gratified that the other Horde leaders were so quick to agree with my suggestion that you would be an ideal interim Warchief.
As I am gratified by the faith you all showed in me, Dark Lady.
Where do you know HER from?
Do you not recall, Warchief? I too served in Northrend during our triumphant campaign against the Lich King. I had occasion to meet Overlord Saurfang in the late stages of our campaign.
Ohhh, that’s right, you WERE up there, weren’t you? See, I forgot about that, seeing as Saurfang and I were spending most of our time on the whole successfully-taking-down-Arthas operation, as opposed to how you were mostly concentrating on the sneak-in-the-side-door-then-run-from-Arthas-like-a-little-girl wing.
Again you wound me, Warchief.
And hold on, how the fuck are YOU in here too?
In the blog? I hacked admin.
You what now?
You what now?
That’s what I said, only less green.
Just as I said. I hacked admin. ^_^
Oh man, hold on, I need to go check the IP’s again…
You hacked your way onto the blog? The fuck?
I’m not sure why you should be so shocked, Warchief. I’ve done this many times before. Not on your blog specifically, of course, but…
Haha, this is awesome.
Oh for FUCK’s sake, who’s THIS now?
What, you don’t recognize me either, filthy orc?
Oh crap, I can tell this is going to mean all kinds of overtime. I was just getting my rotation down on Earth Online, too…
WHO IS THIS?
Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, you brainless half-wit!
OMG WTF
Yeaahhh, this is gonna mean a whole big system overhaul… So much for me trying to save some money on firewalls…
You seriously think I don’t keep an eye on you and your Horde devils?
Fuck you, Varian.
Indeed, Dark Lady!
Stay out of this, witch!
Wait, what? I didn’t say that.
Who did, then?
That was me.
Why was it purple, then? I’m using the purple.
For fuck’s sake, do you not READ the blog?
He’s got a point there.
My text ALWAYS goes purple when I say “Fuck you, Varian.” SEE? It’s like a running thing, I’ve been doing it for months!
But I’m using the purple now. It’s my color. Would it have been so bad not to use purple just this once, for the sake of not confusing people needlessly?
Hold on, are you actually bitching that my choice of text color isn’t showing adequate consideration FOR THE PEOPLE WHO ARE SOMEHOW HACKING THEIR WAY INTO MY BLOG EDITOR?
He’s kind of got you there, too.
Not the editor. I hacked admin. We’ve been over this.
I seriously never get tired of watching you vile creatures fight amongst yourselves.
You would be wise to watch yourself, King Varian.
I would expect at least a little courtesy from you, Saurfang, from one father to another.
I have already addressed this with you, Highness. I will not stand by while the Horde is insulted, however much I may appreciate the kindness you once showed to me over my son.
Dranosh, wasn’t it?
Indeed.
Is that a family name or something?
OH FUCK NOT AGAIN
Not as such. It means “Heart of Draenor” in orcish.
Ask him about the warlocks.
WHOSE FUCKING SIDE ARE YOU ON?!
What about the warlocks?
DAMMIT SYLVANAS!
I would not let the warlocks take him. My boy would be safe, hidden away by the elders of Garadar.
WE’VE ALREADY BEEN THROUGH THIS LIKE EIGHT TIMES
Apologies, Warchief, but…it’s just so easy!
Still not as easy as everybody on the whole fucking internet breaking into my BLOG, though, apparently!
I know, I know, I’m already changing my sign-up status for the alt raid this weekend… <sigh>
Look at it this way, Saurfang: your son died honorably for an honorable cause, far better than most of your kind. At least this way he can be spared a far worse end when your empire of villainy falls to the Alliance.
Also, I like to talk really tough because I think that way no one will suspect what a small penis I have.
Oh and I have trouble getting it up ever since Benedictus bad-touched me in the confessional booth when I was an altar boy.
WHAT THE HELL I DIDN’T SAY THAT
It certainly looks like you did. <guffaw>
I have it on fairly good authority that’s a true story, too.
I DID NOT SAY ANY SUCH THING YOU DEVILS!
Oh did I mention how I couldn’t perform at all until Tiffy-Wiffy took me home and played dress-up for me?
OMG YOU LEAVE TIFFIN OUT OF THIS!!!
<giggle>
Oh hey YOU’RE making him say that?
You are? How, Dark Lady?
Admin. ^_^
SEE? SEE? I’VE ALWAYS SAID YOU HORDE ARE EVIL!
Behind closed doors I like to wear dresses!
DAMN YOU, SYLVANAS! THE HELL WITH YOU ALL, I’M LOGGING OFF!
Hee! ^_^
Okay, you know what, that was totally worth it.
Indeed it was an amusing diversion, albeit immature; but I suppose you young folk need find your pleasures in your own way. And with that, Warchief, I believe I shall take my leave.
From the blog you mysteriously popped into through some means I still don’t know what the fuck they were? Yeah, okay.
A good day to you, Warchief. Honor go with us all.
Gotta admit, much as I’m still pretty pissed that you were able to hack in here so easily like that—
I know, I know, I’m clearing out next week too…
—what you did to Varian there was pretty awesome. You might not be so bad after all, Sylvanas.
Thank you, dear Warchief. While I’m here, incidentally, might we take a moment to review my concerns about the conduct of Captain Bloodfist?
Not right now, Sylvanas. It’s been a long day, okay? We can get into it another time soon.
As you wish, Warchief. In that case, I’ll leave you to your mailbag and return to my work here in the Undercity.
Yeah, you do that, Sylvanas. Luckily, that was the last letter for this week, and it’s probably a good thing too, since I don’t know if I’m in a mood to deal with any more weirdness in one day. So I think it’s time to wrap this up for today. I’ll post again soon, everyone.
Also don’t forget I don’t really have the faintest idea what I’m doing, and the Horde probably would have been better off staying under Saurfang. But at least I’m easily influenced.
~_^
