Tag Archives: caverns of time
So it goes
So check this out! I’m writing to you FROM THE PAST! How freaky is that?
Okay, so, Mokvar just pointed out that ANY writing I’ve done would have to be from the past, seeing as I would have to write it, and then at some point AFTER that you would read it, and so I would ALWAYS be writing from the past, and yeah, thank you, Mokvar, way to piss on my excitement and muddy up what should have been a cool moment. Fuck.
Okay, I had to be smack him around a few times for a minute there. I’m back now.
Anyway, though, the point is, I’m not writing to you from the plain-ol’-regular past right now, where I write a blog post and a couple hours later you see it. No, no, I’m writing to you from TEN YEARS AGO. Because GUESS WHERE WE ARE, bitches! Um, I mean, WHEN we are. Although that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as well. Anyhow.
That’s right, right this minute I’m writing to you from old Hillsbrad. Well, right this minute, to me. To you it’s still ten years ago…okay, you know what, you guys know what I mean, so I’m going to stop trying to keep my verb tenses straight, I’m just going to give myself a headache if I try to keep this shit up.
Anyway, I know what you’re wondering – how the hell can I be connecting to the internet and accessing the here-and-now blog from Hillsbrad ten years ago? I mean, hell, they were still using fucking dial-up back then, right? Well here’s the thing: I had the foresight to bring my laptop on this trip, complete with the why-fly doohickey Spazzle hooked me up with, and so I’m still able to get online using Nozdormu’s wireless network. And I know what you’re going to say next – “but, but, ten years ago!” Well here’s the thing, part two. The Noz’s wireless network is fucking AMAZING. Everything he does is all time-warpy, and his network is no exception. Hell, ten years is nothing – you can connect to that thing from fucking CENTURIES ago. Not to mention, his built-in spam filter? Not only does it BLOCK all the spam and pop-ups and all that crap, but it locates their source and sends a fucking bronze dragon to roflstomp it and pretty much wipe it clean out of the timestream before it even has the chance to exist. I think he calls the feature iPwn.
So, let me catch you all up on the situation. I traveled through the portal to old Hillsbrad with the rest of my team: me, Mokvar, Faranell, Lady Liadrin, and Utvoch. Dontrag ended up staying out. The Noz made a fuss about six of us going on the trip…for some reason, sending five of us back was no problem, but six, oh boy, sending six was going to be all kinds of logistical headaches. Apparently the time portal takes a huge amount of power to maintain – 1.21 gigawatts, if I remember him right – and trying to squeeze an extra person in was just going to make them blow a fuse or something. At first I tried arguing with him, and made the case that really, Dontrag and Utvoch should only count as one person between them, because seriously, you’ve met them, right? But oh no, he wouldn’t budge, so I just had the two of them do their coin-toss game to see who got to go. Utvoch won – which broke Dontrag’s 89-toss win streak, by the way – and so here he is.
I got the last laugh on the Noz, by the way. Since he wasn’t going to let Dontrag come with us, I told Dontrag to wait for us with Nozdormu and keep him company. BET YOU DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING, did you, Noz? HAH!
I was having a good chuckle over that while we took the portal, but apparently karma really is a bitch, because Utvoch didn’t waste much time making me think maybe I should have brought the other one. Or neither. Come to think of it, neither’s starting to sound pretty good.
So anyway…we go through the portal, and the bunch of us are getting ourselves situated and checking out each other’s new fugly human looks. Mine’s not a disaster, although I don’t know WHAT’S going on with this beard. Oh and Faranell, check this out, HIS human form? It’s not even a fake human form — he looks like his old self, like what he looked like as a human before he died and got turned undead. Crazy, huh?
Anyhow, we’re all checking this stuff out, when I look up and see Utvoch is already getting mixed up with something. He’s wandered a little ways off to the nearby hillside, and he’s managed to piss off some giant moth that’s buffeting him around with its wings. By the time I can yell “The hell are you doing, fuckwit?” he’s already got the moth dead, but still, we’re supposed to avoid messing around with anything that isn’t necessary while we’re back here. Still, I don’t think too much of it, because what are the odds of any kind of fallout from killing a moth, right?
Yeah. Hold that thought.
So, we take the scenic route so as not to be noticed, sneaking past the outskirts of Tarren Mill past the south road. We make our way south just past the watchtower, and we’re about to make the turn down to Southshore, when what do we spot in the field just off the road? A giant fucking yeti, totally owning a pack of five humans. And like, seriously, this wasn’t one of your garden variety yeti, this was the super-gigantic wendigo variety with the big curving horns and shit, the kind I thought you only saw up in Northrend. And this motherfucker is no joke, because he’s totally laying waste to these people even though they seem to be adventurer types, like with a healer and a volunteer meat shield (although seriously, who the fuck volunteers for that job?). Although by the time we see what’s going on, the meat shield guy is a lot less shield and a lot more meat, mostly of the dead variety, and so now the yeti is running around smacking the rest of them down, and within another minute or so they’re all dead.
At that point, Mr. No Fucking Around Giant Yeti Guy spots us and attacks. Naturally I charge in to intercept him before he starts eating someone squishy like Faranell, and I mostly manage to keep him focused on me while everyone else helps burn him down. Even though, come on, who do you think really did most of the work on that one? Anyway, we get the yeti dead without too much trouble, and we go to have a look at the pile of dead humans, when who should pop in on us but the Noz’s pipsqueak buddy Chromie, and…well, here:
Chromie teleports in amid the group.
FARANELL: <jumps> AAH! Don’t…don’t do that!
CHROMIE: Hiya guys! How’s it—
She looks around at the pile of bodies.
Oh fudge crackers. No, no, no…
UTVOCH: That sounds kind of good, do you have s—
GARROSH: <smacks Utvoch> I’m expanding your ban to all words.
UTVOCH: Sorry, sir.
GARROSH: <pummel> Those were words.
Chromie rubs her forehead, then looks around again.
CHROMIE: Really, guys, you haven’t even been here an hour yet. Gramps is not gonna be happy about this…
LIADRIN: What’s wrong?
CHROMIE: <sigh> Remember how we’d sent some adventurers back here on a mission a few years ago?
LIADRIN: Oh no…
MOKVAR: Crap.
CHROMIE: Yeah. So… <looks around the bodies> That’s them.
FARANELL: I don’t get it, though – we haven’t done anything since we’ve been here, have…?
Faranell trails off as the rest of the group turns to look at Utvoch one by one.
GARROSH: You. Fucking. Idiot.
UTVOCH: Yes sir. <pause> Um, but why, sir?
GARROSH: <pummel>
UTVOCH: OWW! Sorry, sir…
MOKVAR: Not to be the secondary idiot here, but I’m a little confused, to be honest. I get that it has to have something to do with the moth, but how did that end up getting these people killed?
GARROSH: Please tell me they were Alliance, at least.
CHROMIE: Yup, they were.
GARROSH: Okay, silver lining, then.
CHROMIE: And as for the moth… <sighs and rubs her head again> The big guy here was a wendigo named Yettimus, and—
LIADRIN: Really? “Yettimus”? People call him that?
FARANELL: Not anymore.
MOKVAR: It is a little on the nose.
LIADRIN: Should I start calling Mokvar or Utvoch “Orcinator” or some such?
UTVOCH: Oh hey, that would be kinda coo—
GARROSH: <pummel>
UTVOCH: OWW!!
GARROSH: Word ban.
UTVOCH: <starts to open mouth, then nods>
CHROMIE: Sooooooo… Yettimus here used to stay pretty secluded up in the hills until fairly recently – by your time, that is – and he mostly kept himself entertained chasing butterflies.
FARANELL: Simple minds, I guess.
GARROSH: Maybe I need to get a butterfly net for you-know-who.
CHROMIE: But, when you guys arrived, Utvoch wound up killing that moth, and in the original timeline that was supposed to happen, that moth was the one that kept Yettimus occupied for most of the afternoon… And when it wasn’t there to keep him busy, he got bored and went wandering around the fields here, and, well… <sigh>
GARROSH: Ugh… Okay, so, what now? Can we maybe pop back out to our own time, and then come back a few minutes earlier and straighten this out?
LIADRIN: I would imagine not…
CHROMIE: Nope.
GARROSH: How come?
CHROMIE: You can’t double back on your own timeline. Once you get mixed up in a certain set of events, you commit to that timestream, and can’t interfere with your own past.
LIADRIN: Otherwise, you create paradoxes and other like anomalies, correct?
FARANELL: When did you become an expert on this?
CHROMIE: No, she’s dead-on right.
LIADRIN: I’m a student of the philosophies of the Light. I happen to enjoy theoretical discussions.
CHROMIE: And don’t even get me started on the beehive you can get into if you cross your own timeline and interact with yourself. Not even gramps can do that without causing all kinds of problems.
GARROSH: Okay, so we can’t get a do-over on the moth…and I’m guessing you can’t just yank these people back out to avoid getting curbstomped by the yeti…
CHROMIE: Nopers.
GARROSH: Okay, so…what do we do now?
CHROMIE: Well, the you part of the “we” just got a new job while you’re here. And while you do that, the me part of the “we” gets to go update Nozdormu on what’s happening here, which he’s not going to like at all…
MOKVAR: So now we need to go make sure Thrall escapes from Durnholde like he’s supposed to?
LIADRIN: It would make sense, to correct the disruption in the timeline…
CHROMIE: I like her! She’s smart.
GARROSH: Not something I get to hear about my minions often…
FARANELL: You know we’re all standing right here, right?
LIADRIN: Wait, “minion”?
MOKVAR: I’m really not liking this business of having to go into Durnholde…
CHROMIE: Well maybe you should have thought of that before you let your ADD squirrel-chasing puppy friend go running around without a leash! Jeepers!
GARROSH: Okay, okay, fine… We’ll go take care of Thrall, just have to juggle that with the original mission, and…ugh…do we at least have time to check on things in Southshore to make sure we’re not already screwed?
CHROMIE: You’ve got a little time before Thrall absolutely has to be in Tarren Mill, so yup. Just be sure to make good time getting in and out of Durnholde when you get there! I’ll check in again later — have fun!
Chromie teleports away again.
So, we’re at the inn in Southshore now. One stroke of luck – none of the Silver Hand people have gotten here. Liadrin talked to Kelly the innkeeper and made a little show of some of her paladinny holy crap to make it seem like she was one of Tirion’s people, and found out he’s not expecting his other paladin guests till tomorrow sometime. So we’ve got a little time to work with if we move fast.
While we were getting settled here at the inn, I sent Mokvar and Utvoch to round up the bodies and bury them somewhere. Faranell volunteered to go up with them, too, to help speed up the process. That left Liadrin and I to get us a couple rooms here at the inn, although Kelly gave us a look when I told him she and I each wanted a separate room. Like, dude, really, grow up. Then I mentioned how we had some other people who would be joining us, so we’d need space for more than one in each room, and OH BOY the look from the innkeeper got an upgrade. Like SERIOUSLY, dude, GROW the fuck UP. You run an inn, stop acting like a fourteen-year-old. Or who knows, maybe these humans are easily shocked or something. None of the innkeepers in Silvermoon would bat an eyelash at any of this shit.
Anyway…once the gravediggers’ commission get back, we’ll get rolling on the whole Durnholde thing. Hopefully we can make quick work of that, because the last thing we need is more complications.
[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!]
Wibbly wobbly, timey whimey
We arrived at the Caverns of Time just a short while ago. Soridormi greeted us on arrival, and I let her take the rest of the group on the tour of the place while I made a lemon squares delivery. Like I mentioned, the big guy really loves his pastry, to the point that he actually has a couple of personal bakers right here in-house. Turns out Nozdormu was still off somewhere busy, so I dropped by the bakery to leave the goodies with his bakers, and figured while I was there, what the hell, I might as well leave them a copy of the recipe. Maybe win a few bonus points that way. I wound up hanging out with them there while I waited for everyone to get back. Not sure what to make of those two. I mean, they seemed happy enough to take the recipe, and one of them, Tom, seemed really cool. Awesome guy. Can totally see him being the kind of dude that everybody loves. Colin, though…I don’t know, he just seemed like kind of a dick.
Anyway, after everyone was done having a look around the place, Nozdormu came out to see us. Eventually. I’ve heard that’s kind of his pattern. Even after the tour, he took his sweet time showing up. So we were just stuck sitting there a while, me and Mokvar going through his notes to catch Liadrin up, and meanwhile Dontrag and Utvoch (yes, I brought them, it never hurts to have a couple low-grade flunkies around for the heavy lifting) managed to kill some time flipping coins. In which, by the way, it looked like Utvoch really took Dontrag to the cleaners. Or maybe the other way around. I still have trouble keeping them straight sometimes.
Anyway, eventually Nozdormu got his scaly ass out to see us. You should have seen the way he breezed on in. First of all, I swear somebody started cranking out smoke right before he showed up, and then, when he finally came strolling on in through the fog, he did some kind of time distortion thing that made everything seem like it had slowed down to half speed. And so here he comes, pimping on in through the smoke, in slow motion. Gotta admit, it was pretty fucking cool.
Anyway, Thrall had already given Nozdormu – or, as I like to call him, The Noz – a brief rundown of the situation, and Faranell and I filled in some more of the details for him. He mostly just nodded knowingly in that way he always does, kind of floating somewhere halfway between really cool and really annoying. Eventually he said he could probably help us out, provided we could stick to a few rules. I told him that shouldn’t be problem, because if there’s one thing yours truly is all about, it’s discipline and self-control. He just kind of stared at me a little when I said that. Not sure what the deal was there. But yeah, so he filled out the picture for us, and…you know what, why am I yammering away paraphrasing this? Mokvar was there. Here, I’ll have him hook us up:
NOZDORMU: As it happens, we have a time portal already established to Hillsbrad in the era you’re speaking of, so it shouldn’t be hard at all to send you there.
GARROSH: Well that’s convenient I guess. Would you not be able to open a new portal if you didn’t have one running already?
NOZDORMU: That would be…more problematic. We of the bronze dragonflight still have dominion over the timeways, and can travel along the pathways of time, but since the defeat of Deathwing, my ability to manipulate those timeways enough to open new time portals is…limited.
GARROSH: I was wondering about that, actually. Like how does that work with you guys? I would have figured losing your Aspect powers would have put this place out of business.
NOZDORMU: Not quite so simple. It’s true, we former Aspects expended our ancient power in order to charge the Dragon Soul, and we are now diminished, as compared to what we were. Mortal now, most notably…
GARROSH: Actually, if Deathwing and, you know, Malygos were any indication, you guys were sort of always mortal…
NOZDORMU: Well that’s different.
GARROSH: How is it different?
NOZDORMU: Malygos and Neltharion were killed in battle. Without the intervention of their slayers they would have carried on as immortals for eternity.
GARROSH: So, they were immortal as long as somebody didn’t kill them. Gotta say, that’s a pretty loose definition of “immortal.”
NOZDORMU: Did you really come here to argue semantics with a millennia-old, Titan-appointed caretaker of reality, just before asking him to do you a favor?
GARROSH: I know, I know. Just sayin’.
NOZDORMU: Where did that expression come from, incidentally? “Just sayin’.” If you say something insulting or presumptuous, how does tacking “Just sayin’” on the end of it make it any less insulting?
GARROSH: Okay, okay, you’re immortal, fine. Well, were.
NOZDORMU: Nevertheless, each of the flights holds dominion over one of the primal forces of the world, and even without our Aspect empowerment, the flights maintain those bonds. Ysera and the green dragonflight, for instance, continue their attunement to the Emerald Dream, just as the red dragonflight maintain their stewardship of life. Likewise, we bronze dragons are able to travel through time, and I personally retain my heightened perception of temporality.
GARROSH: What about Kalecgos?
NOZDORMU: What about him?
GARROSH: Well, he was the Aspect of Magic, right?
NOZDORMU: For about a week.
GARROSH: Well, still.
NOZDORMU: I don’t know. I guess he can still…well… He probably still knows a few card tricks, I guess.
GARROSH: Oh.
NOZDORMU: I’m not sure, though.
GARROSH: Ah, okay.
NOZDORMU: Yeah.
Garrosh, Faranell, and Liadrin exchange awkward looks.
GARROSH: So about the Hillsbrad thing.
NOZDORMU: Oh yes, that. As I was saying. We have a portal already established to Hillsbrad circa a decade ago, so it would be simple enough to send you through. I can further assign Chronormu—
Chromie, a bronze dragon assuming the form of a female gnome, teleports in and bounces happily next to Nozdormu.
CHROMIE: Hiya!
NOZDORMU: —to check in on you on occasion, to be sure there aren’t any unforeseen complications.
GARROSH: Wait, she’s a dragon? And what do you mean, complications?
CHROMIE: Yup, that’s me!
NOZDORMU: Yes, she’s one of the bronze flight. I suppose you haven’t met—
CHROMIE: Oh sure we ha—
NOZDORMU: I mean he. Hasn’t met you.
CHROMIE: Ohhhh, right, skipper. <making a zipping motion across her mouth> Sshhh!
GARROSH: Should…I be worried about something here?
FARANELL: I probably would have been worried long before this, but that’s just me.
CHROMIE: Ohhh don’t you fret over little ol’ me. I don’t bite. At least not in this form! <giggles>
GARROSH: Speaking of which, do you really have to be a gnome?
CHROMIE: Why? What’s wrong with gnomes?
Mokvar, Faranell, Dontrag, and Utvoch all utter overlapping groans.
MOKVAR: Oh boy, here we go.
DONTRAG: What’s wrong with gnomes, she says…
FARANELL: Even I know better than to…yeah…
UTVOCH: We’re going to be here a while, aren’t we?
MOKVAR: Every day with the gnomes…
LIADRIN: <to Faranell> Um, what did Lor’themar drag me into?
FARANELL: Give it a little time, really. It seems weird at first, but after a little while it actually becomes kind of fun.
DONTRAG: If he’s going to start in on the gnomes, you want to toss a few more coins?
UTVOCH: Yeah, no thanks, eighty-nine straight losses is enough for me in one day.
GARROSH: Okay, okay, will you people SHUT UP?
NOZDORMU: If one of my progeny taking the guise of a gnome is really that distasteful to you, I suppose I could appoint someone else, although I must say Chromie is one of my very best operatives, and…
CHROMIE: Thanks, gramps!
GARROSH: Yeah, okay, it’s fine. I’m not thrilled about the gnome thing, but whatever, I’m a professional. I’ll rise above it.
UTVOCH: Most inconceivable of you, sir—
GARROSH: <smacks Utvoch> We’ve been through this before about you and that word.
UTVOCH: Sorry, sir…
GARROSH: Okay, so fine, your little pipsqueak friend can be our contact.
CHROMIE: Woot!
GARROSH: But what was that thing about complications?
NOZDORMU: Well, Warchief, time is, after all, a rather complex and delicate thing, and one must be rather cautious when traversing its pathways. A certain, shall we say, delicacy and finesse is called for.
GARROSH: Dude, I am all about the fucking finesse. Right, guys?
Crickets.
NOZDORMU: At…any rate. You must simply take care not to interfere with past events more than is absolutely necessary. Speaking generally, you should not underestimate the potential impact of seemingly minor actions. You cannot imagine the magnitude of the consequences that can unfold from even a minor alteration in the timeline. More specifically, you will be traveling to a time and place that witnessed certain crucial events that cannot be disrupted…
GARROSH: Yeah, okay, that shouldn’t be a problem, this is 90% a fact-finding mission anyway, so…
NOZDORMU: So you say, and I do not doubt your intentions. But you must take care not to do anything that might interfere with certain key events playing out as they were meant to. Specifically, for one, the forging of the Ashbringer. You will be witnessing the fulcrum of an intricate convergence of events, which cannot be disturbed. The crystal carried by the eldest Mograine represents the spark which sets in motion events that must occur; this cannot be undermined.
GARROSH: Okay, check. No smashy-smashy on the crystal. Anything else?
NOZDORMU: One other matter. The reason, in fact, that this particular time portal was opened in the first place. You will be arriving at the moment in history when a young Thrall escapes from his human captors in Durnholde Keep. It is the singular event without which the Horde as it now exists…would not.
GARROSH: Wait, I get why that’s an event we can’t fuck around with, but why would you have opened a portal there if it’s so important that nobody interfere with it?
NOZDORMU: Because someone already did.
GARROSH: The what you say?
MOKVAR: I swear these time loop stories make my head hurt.
NOZDORMU: Agents of the Infinite Dragonflight had attempted to prevent Thrall’s escape, in order to…well, suffice to say, they sought to alter the timeline to ill effect. Some time ago, the bronze flight in my absence elicited the aid of a group of adventurers to travel back to this point in history and ensure that events played out as they should.
GARROSH: Okay…but, in that case, you already have people there keeping tabs on things, right? And they succeeded. We’re all here, and the Horde’s still here, so Thrall escaped and the world didn’t go kablooey or whatever, so your people did their job there and it’s a done deal, isn’t it?
NOZDORMU: It won’t be when you’re there. Those events are past to us, yes. And they have happened – now. But when you step through the portal, they will be as real and present to you as this conversation is now.
MOKVAR: Yeah, see, I really should have brought some aspirin.
GARROSH: I mean, yeah, I get that we’ll be seeing things happening live and in person. But if we’re sitting here having this conversation, that means whatever we end up doing there DOESN’T change anything, right? I mean, say you send me to the past. It’s still the past. So if I DID accidentally change things, wouldn’t we already know?
NOZDORMU: Except the actions you take in old Hillsbrad aren’t only the past. They are also, from our point of view in this moment, your future. Those events remain unchanged, until you actually change them. And only then do the ripples spread to the present.
LIADRIN: This is actually kind of fascinating.
NOZDORMU: Have you ever experienced déjà vu, Garrosh? Or had a memory that was so vivid and real to you, even though you knew, objectively knew for a fact, that the events didn’t happen the way you so clearly remember them?
GARROSH: Well, yeah, I guess…
NOZDORMU: That’s time rewriting itself. It happens all around us, constantly, in countless tiny ways we never notice except the cracks that flicker in the corners of our eyes. Well, you don’t notice. It’s all I ever see.
CHROMIE: Here we go, skipper, time for your favorite speech!
NOZDORMU: It’s what all of my flight sees, really; I simply have the most sensitive perception. When I look at you, Garrosh, I don’t just see you as you are now. I see everything you’ve done, everything you might do, everything you must do. They’re all written in your face, every minute, and with every choice you make, some of the endless possibilities reshape themselves, others melt away… Every single one of you here, accompanied constantly by an army of past and possible selves. Almost as if there were a thousand of you standing right here before me, Garrosh.
MOKVAR: Don’t let Garona hear that, can you imagine—
GARROSH: If you finish that sentence, I will END you.
LIADRIN: I’m…missing a lot of context for you people, aren’t I?
FARANELL: Don’t worry about it too much. I’m still pretty new, too. You catch up fast.
DONTRAG: Ohhh, I get it, you mean about how Garona’s been trying to—
UTVOCH: SHUT IT, nobody cares about her rolling an alt.
FARANELL: For instance, they’re idiots.
LIADRIN: Well yes, I gathered that much.
GARROSH: ANYWAY.
DONTRAG: No, not her alt, I mean—
GARROSH: <pummel>
DONTRAG: OWW!!
GARROSH: So okay, I think I get it. Past events can always change, time revises itself right out from under us when they do, but some events have to stay put. So say, like with what you were saying about looking at me and seeing my past and future… Like say next Tuesday I’m going to slip on a banana peel, but me falling on my ass sets off some other events that are really important, so even if you want to, you can’t be like “Hey Garrosh, watch out for the banana peel.” Because there’s some stuff in my future that HAS to happen.
Nozdormu stares at Garrosh somberly for a moment.
NOZDORMU: I think you grasp the basic idea, yes.
GARROSH: Oh so hey, is that why everybody’s just accepting how eventually you HAVE to go Murozond on us and cause all that trouble with the Infinite Dragonflight yourself?
NOZDORMU: Hey, listen, if you want to start poring over people’s misguided futures, I can—
CHROMIE: Whoa, whoa, cool down a little, boss! Ix-nay on the iege-say, right?
NOZDORMU: Ahem. Yes, yes, of course.
GARROSH: Umm, the hell was that shit about?
NOZDORMU: Hmm. One moment.
Nozdormu closes his eyes and takes on an expression of intense focus.
.tnemom enO .mmH :UMRODZON
?tuoba tihs taht saw lleh eht ,mmU :HSORRAG
.esruoc fo ,sey ,seY .mehA :UMRODZON
?thgir ,yas-egei eht no yan-xI !ssob ,elttil a nwod looc ,aohw, aohW :EIMORHC
—nac I ,serutuf dediugsim s’elpoep revo gnirop trats ot tnaw uoy fi ,netsil ,yeH :UMRODZON
?flesruoy thgilfnogarD etinifnI eht htiw elbuort lla esuac dna su no dnozoruM og ot EVAH uoy yllautneve woh gnitpecca tsuj s’ydobyreve yhw taht si ,yeh os hO :HSORRAG
GARROSH: Oh so hey, is that why everybody’s just accepting how eventually you HAVE to go Murozond on us and cause all that trouble with the Infinite Dragonflight yourself?
NOZDORMU: Yes, basically.
CHROMIE: Whew. That’s better.
NOZDORMU: Much.
CHROMIE: Why dodge a bullet when you can wind it back into the chamber, right?
NOZDORMU: Indeed.
GARROSH: Uh, what are you two babbling about?
NOZDORMU: Oh, nothing you need concern yourself with. Shall we start making preparations for you to begin your mission? There are a few small specifics we’ll need to go over.
GARROSH: Yeah, sure… Hey, actually, did I ask you that thing about Murozond before?
NOZDORMU: No, I don’t think so.
GARROSH: Huh, weird. Déjà vu.
We’re getting ourselves set to take the trip shortly. Mostly making sure we have any supplies we might need, getting a general briefing on what we’re allowed to “know” and “not know” if we talk to anyone in the other timeframe, all that fun stuff. Also, to make sure we blend in, The Noz says when we go through the portal we’ll be affected by a glamour that will make us look like we’re human. Not exactly a pleasant thought, but I can see why it’s necessary. Still, I hope whatever human form I get ends up being a LITTLE palatable. I don’t want to go literally strolling down memory lane looking like an asshole.
YOUR WARCHIEF IS A GENIUS
Not that you guys didn’t already know that, but you know what, I’m going to repeat it, BECAUSE IT BEARS REPEATING.
YOUR WARCHIEF IS A FUCKING GENIUS.
Why, you ask? YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T THINK OF THREE OR FOUR REASONS OFF THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD? Okay, fine, maybe you just suffered head trauma or something, or you’re Dontrag or Utvoch, so I guess I can let it slide. Just this once. Anyway, I suppose I should explain what I’ve come up with.
So, you know how we’re trying to figure out a solution to the whole anti-plague thing in Southshore, and how we tracked it back to that meeting Tirion had with his other Silver Hand people, and that dark crystal that they turned light and used to make the Ashbringer with…only, that lead wound up being a dead end, literally, since Tirion’s the only one who was there at the time who isn’t dead now? Well check out this flash of brilliance – yeah, sure, those people are all dead NOW, but they weren’t ALWAYS dead, right? And I know what you’re thinking, “Uh, yeah, Garrosh, that’s the way dead works, people don’t start off dead, they come out the gate not being dead, not being dead, not being dead, still not dead, not dead yet, OH FUCK now they’re dead, the end.” Well SHUT UP and LET ME FINISH. Fucking hell, you and your damned interruptions. Point is, we can’t go question people like Isilien and Doan NOW because they’re dead, but who says we can’t just go track them down at some point when they WEREN’T dead? Because guess what, it just so happens I have an in with some people – loosely speaking – who know a thing or two about time travel.
Yup, that’s right. I’ve already contacted Thrall, and as we speak he’s talking to his old Deathwing-slaying buddy Nozdormu, and so as soon as we get the details squared away, I’ll be rounding up a team and heading down to the Caverns of Time.
GARROSH, YOU GENIUS, YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
Anyway…while Thrall finishes making nice, I’m going to get a jump on prepping for the trip. I’ve only met Nozdormu the one time myself, and I didn’t really get to talk to him so much, so I might want to be ready to make nice myself when I get down there. I’ve heard he’s got a real sweet tooth when it comes to pastry, so I’m thinking I might get Marogg to whip up a batch of Greatmother’s lemon squares. Anything to grease the wheels, you know?
More updates soon. Don’t be surprised if the next time you hear from me, it’s from Tanaris.
[Header image provided by regular reader and commenter ZugZug, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Monday, so I am told, Mailbag
Citizens of the Horde,
I am an orc of my word; some days ago I invited you to write to me with your thoughts and inquiries, and promised I would answer them as is customary in this space. Today I fulfill that promise.
I write to you from our outpost in Silithus, as I prepare to begin our movement into Ahn’Qiraj. Perhaps this exercise will be helpful in clearing my thoughts before the coming battle. Let us begin.
Have you read any good books lately?
–Tarrful, Orgrimmar
Sadly, my hectic schedule as acting Warchief does not allow me the leisure time to pursue recreational reading. Fortunately, I do make a point of conducting regular briefing sessions to ensure I am kept abreast of important and relevant information, to ensure that the absence of reading time has not caused me to miss something of import.
[Saurfang doesn’t read books. He stares them down until they give him the information he wants. –Mkvr., ed.]
Do you play Earth Online too? If so, what server are you on? What class do you play?
–Kalaban, Undercity
I’m afraid I don’t know what this “Earth Online” is that you speak of. By context, I would surmise it is some sort of diversion or recreational activity involving the internet. Sadly, my schedule already calls for me to spend too much time safeguarding the future of the Horde and saving the world from annihilation for me to invest much leisure time in such matters. Also, I am an adult.
If Thrall and Garrosh ever finished that duel they started back before the Northrend campaign, who do you think would win?
–Kulkesh, Razor Hill
I could not even venture a guess as to the outcome of a battle between two such mighty combatants; and moreover, I can only hope that such a wasteful conflict might never occur.
[If Thrall ever dueled Garrosh to completion, the winner would be Saurfang. –Mkvr., ed.]
I must say, I was expecting these inquiries to revolve around matters of greater weight and import. Nevertheless, we carry on.
When the orcs began dabbling in necromancy, did you ever consider becoming a Warlock? I know you’re a pretty badass Warrior and all, but did you ever think it might be fun to have demon minions and dot people up?
–Davan Shadowspring, Silvermoon City
There was never a point when I was tempted to indulge in the fel magics of the warlocks. Indeed, I suspected even then that no good would come of my people’s dabbling in shadow magic. Moreover, I fail even to see the appeal of such practices; I find it much more honorable and rewarding to confront my enemy face-to-face in combat and best him hand-to-hand, rather than standing at a distance and resorting to trickery. There is a certain gravity and satisfaction to be found in feeling the weight and heft of a solid, reliable blade in one’s hands. And besides, I can assure you, if one is sufficiently proficient in the martial arts, one does not need a precarious spell to make one’s foes flee in fear.
[Damn, Saurfang almost beat me to the punch on this one: Every time a warlock makes someone run away in fear, he pays a royalty to Saurfang. –Mkvr., ed.]
I’m glad to see someone in charge again in Orgrimmar who’s at least somewhat respectable. I would wish you well in your efforts, except that in this case that would probably entail you actually finding Garrosh, and honestly that would end up leading to more trouble than it would be worth. So, here’s wishing you a mixed bag that keeps you in your current position for a while.
–King Varian Wrynn, Stormwind
P.S. Sorry to hear your men were stuck in those underground tunnels on Alcaz Island. Those things are creepy as hell. For years, I had these bizarre recurring nightmares that I was stuck down there, and barely even knew myself. Freaky stuff…
While I remain thankful to you, King Varian, for the kindness you showed me in light of the loss of my son, I nevertheless cannot let such denigrations against our Warchief go unanswered. I may remind you, however much good will may exist between you and I personally, I am first and foremost unwaveringly loyal to the Horde, and Warchief Hellscream is its rightful leader. I am myself, indeed, merely a part of which the Horde is a larger whole; and you may no more speak ill of our leader with impunity from me than you might strike one’s face and not expect the hand to respond in kind. And so, as Warchief Hellscream might comment in his own inimitable manner, I would take this occasion to invite you, King Varian, to engage in an act of self-copulation.
If da Lich King’s horse be Invincible, how come I be seein’ it?
–Bob, Echo Isles
Vol’jin, I don’t know what it is that you’re trying to accomplish, or why you’ve chosen to adopt this puerile façade, but I would ask of you, please, recall your station. We are leaders of the Horde, and as such it is incumbent upon us to conduct ourselves with a modicum of maturity.
I know the Dragon Aspects have a lot on their plate these days, but considering the interest they have in Twilight’s Hammer activities, and the resources and information they have access to, have you considered reaching out to them for support in the search for Garrosh? Maybe have Thrall speak to them on your behalf?
–Zhurzigg, Orgrimmar
While it would indeed pain me to impose upon the hectic schedule of the Aspects, my time in Northrend did afford me the opportunity to develop a certain rapport with the Wyrmrest Accord. As a result, I was recently able to arrange a meeting with Nozdormu at the Caverns of Time. My original intention was to travel to Tanaris on the way to Silithus, but initial preparations detained me in Orgrimmar unexpectedly; fortunately Nozdormu was most gracious over my tardiness (in retrospect, I wonder if he knew in advance that I would be late, all things considered), and welcomed me for our discussion nonetheless.
[Time waits for no man. Unless that man is Saurfang. –Mkvr., ed.]
Sadly, Nozdormu was able to uncover no leads that might help us pinpoint the location of the Warchief. His ability to delve into past events is, in fact, somewhat compromised by current activities of the Infinite Dragonflight, which is impeding the Aspects’ plan to retrieve the powerful Dragon Soul artifact from the past.
(As an aside, I must admit I would be tempted myself to volunteer for this mission, as it would entail the opportunity to witness first-hand some of the events of the War of the Ancients, in which my dear brother Broxigar had participated.)
[Contrary to popular belief, the Sundering did not happen because of the collapse of the Well of Eternity. The landmasses of the world heard that Saurfang was at the Well, and so the continents split apart in different directions to try to get as far away as possible. As it turns out, the Saurfang present at the Well was Broxigar, not Varok, but you can hardly blame the continents for erring on the side of safety. –Mkvr., ed.]
Nozdormu does still have the power to access the future, but this would appear to have limited usefulness for our purposes. He did suggest at one point that he might move us forward in time to such a point as Warchief Hellscream has been recovered, and then acquire from our future selves the relevant information as to how and where. This, however, struck me as a rather dubious solution; as I explained to the Aspect, in such a circular approach to problem-solving, the actual answers and information would not seem to actually come from anywhere, but rather be produced of whole cloth out of nothing. Nozdormu’s only response was to roll his eyes and, waving a hand about, mutter “Wibbly wobbly, timey whimey.”
The ways of the Aspects truly are a mystery.
One final note in closing: The one aspect of responding to your mail in this format that I do not particularly like is its relatively impersonal nature. Indeed, I wish to apologize to those of you who have written to me directly for not having replied directly in kind. When attempting to log into my “e-mail account,” the machine demanded I provide a password; apparently the device did not find the resulting cleave to be sufficient proof of my identity.
[When Saurfang…oh, wait, he’s already got this one covered. Good deal, boss. –Mkvr., ed.]
By all means, continue to write to me, friends. Honor go with us all.
-Saurfang
Monday mailbag
Well, I asked for questions, and you all obliged! Let’s have a look at some of this week’s mailbag – actual letters from actual readers!
Me a peon who read your blog. Me like reading words of my great warchief! And now you ask to hear from peons like myself? This what makes warchiefs Garrosh and Thrall great leaders! Me thank you.
You ask for questions from peons. Me have a question me want to ask, but was too scared. Me ask it now though. What happened to your head? When you went to Northrend it look like any other orc head, now it look like your head too small or your jaw too big. Me think you wounded in glorious battle, but never heard story of how.
Also me would like nap break in afternoon but overseer beat me and make work more. Me can has nap break?
–A Tired Peon
First of all, someone remind me to up the Razor Hill education budget next year, before we get another generation of peons grimlocking their way through writing a letter.
Second of all, ATP, the head thing. Yeah, I know. Don’t think I don’t notice the way people stare at me when they drop by Grommash Hold – and for realsies, you’re not fooling anyone, people. Acting like you’re staring in another direction and then glancing over when you think I’m not going to see? Totally not working. So I guess I might as well answer this once and for all.
So I’d like to say this was from some epic battle in Northrend, like me squaring off with Arthas, or even Anub’arak, and maybe having him unleash one of those swarms of locusts on me and they buzzed all over me and crushed my head down or some shit like that. But the truth of the matter is, it wasn’t anything that exciting.
Those of you who were up there in Northrend with me will remember my last operation was at Light’s Hammer just inside the gates of Icecrown Citadel. You might also remember that I spent most of that time hanging out there with Tirion Fordring. Who I’d already had my fill of, by the way, when I went to meet him with Thrall at his stupid-ass tournament place. (Like seriously, isn’t ONE pansy-ass traveling fair enough for the world?) So hopefully you people were all too busy forging your way into the citadel and fighting our enemies like the Horde soldiers that you are…but meanwhile I was stuck back there with Tirion…who pretty much had nothing to do for a good long time but talk. And talk.
On.
And on.
And on.
Like really, do you have ANY idea how blabby he is? The preachiness was bad enough, having to sit there and listen to his EIGHT MILLION AND SEVEN spontaneous sermons to no one in particular about the power of the Light and the need to work together against a common foe, and blah blah blah. But then he started going on for hours on end about his crazy uncle Lucius who used to live down the block from Andorhal, and thought he was King Llane, and caught Deadeye burning down a dwarf settlement in Loch Modan and forced him to retreat by beating him at Parcheesi, until he finally went off the deep end and painted himself blue and spent all his time running around Tirisfal Glades naked chasing bats with a wooden spatula, until the Kirin Tor snapped him up and locked up away in some padded room in Dalaran just to keep him out of trouble for his own good, and now Tirion feels like my day just won’t be complete until he tells me what kind of marmalade he liked to put on his toast in the morning, and I just couldn’t fucking TAKE it anymore.
So I just clamped my hands down over my ears as tight as I could and hummed real loud, and I guess I didn’t know my own strength and got carried away, because the next thing you know I’ve managed to squeeze my own fucking head down a couple helmet sizes. So good job there, me. Fucking Tirion.
Of course I suppose two years of Noggenfogger shampoo didn’t help matters, but that’s a whole other thing.
Speaking of not knowing my own strength…
I’m a warrior in the service of the Horde. I do pretty well on the battlefield, but I feel as though I can do much better. Could you tell me how you became so incredibly strong? Do you have a workout regiment, or did you acquire your amazing might through constantly crushing the enemies of the Horde under your boot?
–Revga, Orgrimmar
All of the above, Revga, all of the above. There’s really no substitute for beating the living shit out of real, live foes. For one thing, you never know what they’re going to try next, so it keeps you on your toes. Plus, you can really push yourself if you can find some real grade-A enemies to take on. Here’s where I think I might have an unfair advantage over a lot of guys, since I grew up in Nagrand. While some of the Horde here in Azeroth get started killing boars and wolves and bats, I got to get my exercise fighting hand to hand with giant fucking gronn and whole villages of ogres.
Besides that, I do have a workout routine that works pretty well for me. First thing in the morning I run a hundred laps around Grommash Hold. While I’m going around I get some extra arm exercise in by slapping the fuck out of all the pansy-ass vendors just standing around doing nothing. Especially Ray’ma, because trolls sound extra funny when you slap them around. Then I drop by the meat vendor (once she’s regained consciousness) and pick up eight pounds of roast boar for my breakfast. Gotta maintain your strength, and the protein’s good for muscle, you know.
After that I jog up by the rear gate of Orgrimmar where we keep all the siege engines, find one that looks pretty stable, and bench press it. Nothing too major, just a couple hundred reps. Then I head over to the arena and spar with some of my Kor’kron personal guards for a couple hours. The ones that live get to keep their jobs.
By that point most days it’s around lunch time, so I put Gorehowl away, hop on a wyvern (MAYBE I’LL TAKE MORTIMER THIS TIME, DEHTA BITCHES – THAT’S RIGHT, I FOUND HIM!), and fly down to Un’goro Crater…taking the scenic route up through Hyjal and Felwood then down around Silithus and through Uldum, of course (BECAUSE MORTIMER NEEDS HIS FUCKING EXERCISE TOO). When I get there I find a couple devilsaurs, beat them to death with my bare hands, drag them over to Fire Plume Ridge, and hold them over the lava till they get a good sear. Then it’s lunch time. When I’m done I head over to the eastern cliff face to get some rock climbing in, and scale my way up into Tanaris. From that point I jog over to the shore and usually drop by the Caverns of Time, or as I like to call them, the Caverns of Did I Beat My Best Time. Right now I’m sitting on 34 seconds. BEAT IT IF YOU CAN. If you don’t believe me, just take it up with Anachronos, he’s usually the one holding the stopwatch, even if it’s kind of a funky-looking melty one. Anyway, from there I jog on over to the shore and get in my afternoon swim. Which in my case means I swim from Tanaris right on back up to Durotar.
So I know what you’re thinking at this point: Wait, Garrosh, you just said you had lunch a little while before this, plus it was devilsaur, and we all know how heavy that can be – isn’t it bad for you to go swimming a short time after you’ve eaten? And the answer is yes, yes it is….IF YOU’RE A GODDAMN FUCKING PANSY.
Once I make it back to Orgrimmar, it’s usually time for afternoon tea.
At that point I usually have some Warchief crap I have to take care of, so that’s about it for the workout. As you can tell, being this awesome is a full-time job. You don’t just get a body like mine for nothing. And speaking of taking an interest in my body…
Heyyyy mighty Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, you don’t know me I’m your biggest fan EVAH!!!
And I’m an orc, and a gal, so please answer me… what color panties do you prefer in a woman? *hint hint nudge nudge*
Your faithful fan & minion
–Uukra the Hallowed
You know, you’d be surprised how often I get questions like this. Like seriously, if it was ANYTHING like this for Thrall, I don’t know why the hell he would want to get married.
So, Uukra, to answer you. When you come right down to it, I’m basically a soldier at heart, so I’m going to put this to you in military terms. One word: commando. 😉
I mean, I know that’s how I roll.
Yes, you read that right. Soak up THAT mental image. You’re welcome.
Since you mentioned Jaina Proudmoore in your post about Thrall’s wedding, and I figure you must be in the know, I just have to ask about those two. You know what I’m talking about. Did Thrall ever, um, you know?
–Grimgore, Orgrimmar
Jaina? Oh, geez, dude, who HASN’T?
Other than Lor’themar. Obvious reasons.
That’s it for this week, but keep those letters and questions coming! YOUR WARCHIEF DEMANDS THEM!