Tag Archives: deathwing
Trial of the Black Prince
You know, it’s a funny thing about spending a lot of time around Garrosh. After a while, the particular brand of blinders through which he looks at the world becomes oddly endearing. Case in point, that last bit Gurtash drew up. I have to admit, I actually sort of missed it while I was off the grid for a while.
Stopping at the Tavern of the Mists was my idea. Garrosh didn’t really have any business of his own there — unless you count inspiring Anduin Wrynn to regain mobility ahead of schedule — so he decided to go take a look around the area. Gurtash grabbed a drink from Tong downstairs (um, nonalcoholic hopefully, but I didn’t think to watch) and went out behind the tavern to rest by the steam pool.
That left me to have a little one-to-one time with the real reason I’d wanted to stop here on the way through.
WRATHION: I don’t believe I know you, friend. Is there something I can help you with?
MOKVAR: There might be. It’s why I came here looking for you.
WRATHION: Interesting. Ordinarily, people only come to seek me out when I send for them.
MOKVAR: Well, do that enough times and I suppose word will tend to get around.
WRATHION: Well then. Clearly I’ve been overestimating people’s sense of discretion.
MOKVAR: Don’t feel too bad. I make a point of having several ears to the ground.
WRATHION: We should get along well, in that case. Or not at all. It can be so hard to predict which way that will go.
MOKVAR: Let’s be optimistic and say option 1.
WRATHION: Indeed. In any case, you are here and I am being rude. <calling downstairs> Tong! A drink, please, for my new friend, mister… ah, I don’t believe I got your name.
MOKVAR: Mokvar.
WRATHION: <calling downstairs> Mr. Mokvar!
Wrathion turns back to Mokvar.
I suppose he doesn’t really need to know your name to serve you drinks, but I did start to tell him, and I would hate for the old fellow to feel I’d left him hanging. Is it Mr. Mokvar, by the way? Or Mokvar something?
MOKVAR: Just Mokvar.
WRATHION: No family name?
MOKVAR: Do you have one?
WRATHION: Fair point. Although advertising my particular family probably resides somewhere between unnecessary and inadvisable. At any rate, I was just curious. “Mok-var.” Does it mean anything?
MOKVAR: Nothing. Just Mokvar.
WRATHION: No? Don’t orcish names usually mean things? “Death of” this and “victory to” that and honor blood glory and such?
MOKVAR: Not everyone’s. Some, yes, like the Warchief’s, for instance.
WRATHION: Yes, I had assumed it meant something subtle like “Scream from Hell.”
MOKVAR: Well, I was talking more about the “Garrosh” part, but sure. Anyway, the point is, in my case it’s just a name.
WRATHION: Ah. Well, that’s less colorful.
MOKVAR: I’ll try to be more entertaining next time.
WRATHION: I would appreciate that. Ah, here we are.
Tong comes upstairs with a tray.
Our drink! Here you are, Mr. Mokvar. I hope you enjoy plum wine.
MOKVAR: I’m allergic to plums, actually.
WRATHION: Ah well. More for me, then! Thank you, Tong.
Tong leaves.
In any case — you have no wine, you have no last name, you’re not terribly entertaining, but here you are. What brings you out to my little sanctuary in the hills?
MOKVAR: Reputation. I’ve heard you’ve been recruiting help for a… well, let’s call it a project of some kind.
WRATHION: You might say that. I prefer to think of it as safeguarding the long-term safety of our world. You might even call it a family business of sorts.
MOKVAR: Well, other than the part where your father lost his mind and tried to destroy the world.
WRATHION: Well yes, there’s that, but who doesn’t get a little cranky in their old age?
MOKVAR: Hopefully you’re young enough that we don’t need to worry about that with you for a while.
WRATHION: One would hope. I do so love to keep people guessing, though!
MOKVAR: I guess I’m less of a daredevil. I like knowing these things for sure. For instance, this looming threat you seem so keen on protecting the world from.
WRATHION: Granted, I don’t really know you, Mr. Mokvar, but unless I’m wildly off in my estimate, you’re old enough that you shouldn’t need me to spell out that threat for you.
MOKVAR: I figured you meant the Burning Legion.
WRATHION: There you go. You’ve answered your own question.
MOKVAR: I’m not so interested in it being the Legion in general — you’re right, it’s common sense to figure they’ll strike again, sooner or later — but I’m more interested in the details. For instance… are you just making some “sooner or later” guess that any of us might, or do you know something more about what’s coming?
WRATHION: Well, I hate to show my hand too much. But suffice to say that as convenient as it would be to possess detailed foreknowledge of the Legion’s plans, I have to settle for something less precise. You might think of it as an inherited trait. My flight was charged with the protection of this world, after all. It stands to reason we might be imbued with an innate sensitivity to looming threats, particularly of a demonic nature.
MOKVAR: Well, apart from the whole deal where—
WRATHION: Yes, yes, I know, the business with the rar-rar-crazy and trying to destroy everything. I know. The flight lost the script for a while there. There’s no need to keep bringing it up. You don’t see me dragging the discussion back to your people’s somewhat checkered history in certain similar matters, do you?
MOKVAR: Wow, you’re sensitive about this, aren’t you?
WRATHION: You would be too if your every conversation were a time bomb ticking down to the inevitable Neltharion-splosion. You would think that after all the time and effort I spent tracking down and exterminating the rest of the black flight, people would see fit to stop lumping me in with them, but oh no.
MOKVAR: Well, technically, didn’t you recruit rogues to—
WRATHION: It’s called delegating, my friend! Goodness, do you spend all your conversations nitpicking like this? You must be a joy at parties.
MOKVAR: Deliana tells me that all the time, too.
WRATHION: Who is that? Your wife?
MOKVAR: No, she’s not my — ugh, why does everyone always think that…?
Wrathion looks at Mokvar quizzically.
Right… just… never mind.
WRATHION: Indeed… Well, in any case. My sensitivity to the threat facing this world is a holdover from that ancestry. It may well have surfaced in me purely because I’m the only untainted black dragon to have come along in an age.
MOKVAR: Are you sure this… “dragon sense” of yours is something specific to untainted black dragons?
WRATHION: There’s no way to know for sure, now is there? I am the only black dragon left alive, untainted or otherwise, so I suppose there’s no alternative for comparison.
Wrathion looks at Mokvar quizzically.
Why? That’s a rather… odd question to be a random inquiry.
MOKVAR: Just because there aren’t any black dragons living in this world — assuming you definitely got them all—
WRATHION: I did.
MOKVAR: Bully for you, then.
—doesn’t mean there aren’t any black dragons, at all. For instance, the not-quite-living variety.
WRATHION: …oh?
MOKVAR: Just a thought.
WRATHION: A thought inspired by…?
MOKVAR: Remember what you were saying before about not showing your hand too much? We’re rather alike that way.
WRATHION: Still, I think I can guess at a few cards. Evidently, there are some remnants of my kin stumbling around in some state of…undeath?
MOKVAR: Possibly.
WRATHION: Hmm. You would think that killing a dragon once would have been enough.
MOKVAR: Believe me, son, you’re preaching to the choir on that one. The gist of it, though, is that it looks like something may have woken some of your former family up from their nap. And the lead that first sent me stumbling in their direction involved some vague portents about “something coming.”
WRATHION: Hmm.
MOKVAR: Which sounds a little familiar now.
WRATHION: Yes, doesn’t it…
Wrathion glances behind him to his bodyguards, Left and Right, and makes a brief gesture.
And… what, pray tell, was it that sent you poking around… well, wherever you were poking around.
MOKVAR: Hypothetically.
WRATHION: Yes, of course. Hypothetically.
MOKVAR: It was… a personal matter.
WRATHION: Isn’t everything?
MOKVAR: Probably. But it does make me wonder what might have happened to stir up the Black Dragonflight even in death.
WRATHION: I don’t know. I can’t say I’m privy to the details of what’s putting the Legion in motion — or what will. It might not even have begun yet.
MOKVAR: How does that work?
WRATHION: Oh, one of the interesting things about precognition is that it can sometimes make one aware of an effect before the cause even takes place. Isn’t time fascinating?
MOKVAR: Preaching to the choir again.
WRATHION: All I can say, my friend, is that events are in motion that threaten to bring the Legion down upon us. And my every instinct calls for me to ensure Azeroth is ready to face them.
MOKVAR: That’s what I hear you’ve been telling people.
WRATHION: You don’t need to sound so conspiratorial about it! I’ll have you know, I’ve been working with some of your own kinsmen to that end.
MOKVAR: So I’ve heard.
WRATHION: You can rest assured, of course, that in the conflict we find ourselves embroiled in, my loyalties lie with your H—
MOKVAR: You don’t have to go through your usual song and dance with me.
Wrathion blinks.
WRATHION: Beg pardon?
MOKVAR: I know you’ve been recruiting people from the Horde and the Alliance. You don’t have to go through your usual pretense of professing your loyalty to whichever side you happen to be talking to at the time.
WRATHION: Er… I… that is… <laughing nervously> Mokvar, my friend, I haven’t an idea what you… that is… You, um… You know about that, eh?
MOKVAR: Like I said, I get around.
WRATHION: Apparently so much so that you’re privy to fairly private discussions across faction lines!
MOKVAR: Let’s just say I have a few useful contacts.
WRATHION: I see that. Nevertheless, what you don’t realize—
MOKVAR: Look, I’m not all that interested in what your endgame in all this is.
WRATHION: I… oh. You don’t? Because I had this whole speech ready on the off chance the situation ever came up, and—
MOKVAR: I assume it’s some type of deal where you think you’re serving some greater good, and playing both sides against each other is a means to that end that you think is justified.
WRATHION: Well… yes, I suppose that’s more or less… um… Are you sure you don’t want to hear the speech?
MOKVAR: And whatever the finer details of it are, they don’t really matter much to me, not least of all because whatever you have going on, you’re just pushing people harder into faction conflicts they were already fighting anyway.
WRATHION: …because it included a few turns of phrase I’m actually rather proud of.
MOKVAR: Could you let it go with the speech already? Believe me, I’ve already had to transcribe enough monologuing for one lifetime.
WRATHION: Oh fine. It’s your loss, though. There were motifs and everything.
MOKVAR: Well whatever the plan is, motifs and all, if you’re smart you’ll rethink it before you get any deeper than you already are.
WRATHION: Oh? And why is that? Are you threatening me?
Left and Right take a step forward, raising their crossbows.
I hope you’re not trying to threaten me. Tong gets so very cross when people make a mess of his place.
MOKVAR: You’re not hearing me. I’m not saying to rethink what you’re doing or else. I’m saying rethink it, because if you do, and you’re smart, you’ll realize you’re getting yourself into the middle of something you don’t want to meddle with.
WRATHION: The only thing I’m trying to do, my friend, is bring an end to this destructive conflict as quickly as possible. Or perhaps you’d prefer to continue watching the Horde and Alliance whittle away at each other while the house burns around them?
MOKVAR: And what I’m trying to explain is that you’re trying to tame a crazed worg. You think you can insert yourself into the Horde-Alliance war and bring it to heel, but you can’t. This is bigger than you. It isn’t subject to your whims.
WRATHION: You seem far too willing to resign yourself to the whims of chance.
MOKVAR: I’m willing to accept that chance’s whims have a lot more sway than ours. But, fine. If you don’t believe me, don’t believe me. Don’t say nobody warned you, though, if you keep meddling in things that are larger than any of us and you end up being bitten by it.
WRATHION: Mokvar, my good fellow, I’ve been enjoying your company, but don’t presume to lecture me. I am the last of the Black Dragonflight, chosen by the makers to safeguard the world. I see things you couldn’t imagine, and know things that would set your… pedestrian mind ablaze.
Mokvar looks thoughtfully into the distance for a moment, then nods.
MOKVAR: In that case, Black Prince, I suppose I’ll take my leave.
Mokvar turns and starts to walk away.
Good fortune to you in your endeavors.
WRATHION: And to you in yours, sir.
Mokvar reaches the door, then stops and looks back over his shoulder.
MOKVAR: A propos of nothing… does the name “Sabellian” mean anything to you?
Wrathion narrows his eyes and peers at Mokvar for several seconds.
WRATHION: Should it?
Mokvar shrugs.
MOKVAR: Probably not. Just something I heard somewhere. You seem like a knowledgeable guy. I figured I’d ask. I’m sure it’s nothing.
Mokvar turns back to the door.
Good hunting, your highness.
Mokvar exits.
Not sure if I made things better or worse there. I suppose we’ll see. Plenty of time still to worry about that. Hopefully. In the meantime, I have more research to do.
Mokvar
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.
Monday mailbag
So not only have I not really done a decent mailbag in a while (the last one really opened up a pretty big can of worms, to be fair), but in light of recent events, I actually have a pretty serious influx of stuff to respond to. Let’s get right to the mail…
In light of everything you’ve been going through, I decided to take a trip to Demon Fall Canyon to pay my respects to Grom and Lakkara both. I’ve included a picture of myself at Grom’s monument below. Also, while you were traveling to Nagrand this week, I took the liberty of writing a post on the blog to encourage your readers to do the same. Hopefully they’ll follow my lead and send you some photographic proof that we’re all behind you, and thinking of you while you deal with everything that’s happened.
If you ever need anything,
–Spazzle Fizzletrinket, Orgrimmar
Thanks, Spazzle. Much appreciated. As it turns out, a bunch of other people did follow your lead, and my inbox ended up sort of flooded with e-mails and links from people chronicling their own visits. Here’s a smattering from folks who didn’t include an actual letter:
And a bunch here that Leit over at int i; posted as part of a full blog entry on the…well…pilgrimages, I guess, that Spazzle set off:
Condolences on the … recent disturbing events. It’s hard enough to lose a parent once, let alone twice. Know that the Horde grieves with you.
In other news, guess who I ran into the other day? None other than Faranell, the “new guy” in your guild. One of your Kor’kron guards has developed a rather innovative method for controlling the pace of Faranell’s research. He occasionally punts an abomination’s head into the sewers.
That’s Faranell in the middle, and Overseer Kraggosh on the right. He seems to be doing a fine job.
And lastly, Bowling for Wildhammer. You should try it.
(And yes, that’s an atypical hairstyle for one of us. I learned long ago that long, flowing locks and high-torque power shafts DO NOT play well together.)
–A Concerned Citizen
Hey ACC, good to hear from you, and thanks for the show of support. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, but I’ll manage. Granted, I’ll sleep a lot better once ol’ You-Know-Who is finally captured and properly dismembered.
Speaking of dissected bodies, thanks as well for checking in on things in the Undercity. Did you happen to see any signs of Koltira Deathweaver while you were down there, by the way? Haven’t heard from him in months, and last anybody heard he was helping Sylvanas with some stuff out in the Plaguelands. Anyway…I’m sure the boys are keeping things under control down there. I’m still not totally sold on Bragor Bloodfist and the job he’s doing with the watching-Sylvanas-but-not-necessarily-in-the-right-way, but I’m sure Overseer Kraggosh is taking care of business. I actually gave him the Apothecarium assignment deliberately, in the hopes that maybe working down there could help grease the wheels on moving him up on the list of potential “donor” organ recipients. Not to jinx things, but the guy has a really bad family history, heart disease and such, to the point that most of the family pretty much treats it as a foregone conclusion. Want to know how bad it is? The name “Kraggosh”? Means “Heart of Cholesterol” in orcish. Yeah.
Also, Bowling for Wildhammer? You’ve got to fill me in on this one. Strangely enough, for all the meetings I’ve had with Zaela, somehow she never mentioned this little diversion in Twilight Highlands. Seriously, they’ve got some kind of blood sport out there called Bowling for Wildhammer, and she’s wasting my time trying to fucking push some damn SUSHI place on me over and over? The fuck?
Spazzle suggested we attempt to cheer you up by sending you letters and pictures of us honoring your dearly departed father and mother. I kept trying to take decent shots, but my stupid pet kept ruining my pictures. The attached one is the best one I have with out any sort of shenanigans.
While I am writing I would like to ask you a question. Have you ever considered settling down and starting a family? I am from the Armripper clan who has made a good showing in all the conflicts. I am young but not too young. I was a part of the events in Northrend and was there to help kill the Litch King. I was also helpful in bringing down Deathwing and the Twilight Cult.
The only deal breaker for me is that I must be able to keep my full stable of pets near me (ie in the house at all times). I love my pets so much and would never be able to settle down with a man that did not respect that. I have 25 of them, mostly large felines of various colorings. Each one is precious to me.
Awaiting your reply,
–Toka Armripper
Oh great. We’ve got another one.
I actually think I remember you from Northrend, Toka, from when I joined the troops in Icecrown Citadel to deliver Hellscream’s Warsong. My memory’s a little fuzzy on one point, though — you weren’t on of those fuckers who had a problem with the Warsong and wanted me to stop singing, were you? Because I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms, I have an enchanting singing voice, I don’t care what any of you people say.
I’m also totally fine with the pet thing. I mean, 25 cats is maybe a bit much, especially since you say you’re young, seeing as the Crazy Cat Lady thing usually doesn’t start kicking in until middle age at the earliest. (Also, that thing you said about being “young, but not too young”? Is this your way of telling me that you’re, you know, legal? Because assuming we’re talking over 18 here, “too young”? Ain’t no such thing. If there’s grass on the field, play ball.) But I get the appeal of pets — obviously I’m pretty attached to Mortimer, and he would definitely be a dealbreaker for me too, and I also have my worg Malak, who doesn’t get as much press as Mortimer does but also isn’t negotiable. So I get it.
That said, gotta be honest, I haven’t really given a whole lot of thought to settling down any time soon. For one thing, I have way too many things to focus on that are a lot bigger than just me. I have a war to win and humans to exterminate and the glorious future of an Azeroth-dominating Horde to secure, and my time and energy is going to be a lot better spent on that stuff than running around filling out a gift registry (which by the way, am I the only one who thinks that’s a fucking tacky idea in the first place? “Hey, here’s a list of the stuff we want you to buy us, because getting married all of sudden means we get to act like we’re 10 years old and everyone we know is Greatfather fucking Winter”) and getting measured for a tux. Which, also by the way, I don’t do bow ties. Chafe my neck something awful.
But even beyond that, have you SEEN Thrall since he got married? Look, I didn’t always agree with him, but even I wouldn’t hesitate to admit the guy was a badass. Now? Have you seen how he lets Aggra lead him around by the nose? I mean hell, even when he was busy fighting Deathwing, there he was, him and the Aspects and a collection of some of the Horde’s greatest champions, and they narrowly pull off this nail-biter victory that saves the world, and right in their moment of glory and triumph who just SHOWS THE FUCK UP like she OWNS the place? Yeah. Aggra. No thanks.
Besides, why would I want to settle down? Let’s be honest here — there’s a reason why I’ve ended up having to replace my bed upstairs in Grommash Hold 37 times since I took over as Warchief, and believe you me, it ain’t faulty craftsmanship.
Remind me not to do that again
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t such a hot idea. Believe me, as of this morning, I’m paying for it. So this is going to be a short post, seeing as right now just looking at the computer screen is making my eyes hurt, and my head still kind of feels like it’s swimming around in oatmeal.
UGH.
The worst part of it is, it ended up being for nothing, because even though APPARENTLY T’chali did know what became of Sabellian or Sablemane or whatever the fuck we’re calling him this week, and even though I guess he TOLD me…damned if I can remember any of it. And no way am I going back up there to try to get the information out of T’chali again, because I’m pretty sure I know how that’s going to end up. Either more incoherent blogging or a dead troll.
So bottom line, yeah, we’ve got one of the last children of Deathwing running around loose somewhere, presumably somewhere in Outland, but who knows what he’s up to or where. But hey, you know what, if nobody else seems to think this is something to worry about, and they’re content to kick back and smoke another bowl or play catch with their bear or something, hey, fine. I’m going to leave a heads-up with Greatmother in Nagrand and with Nazgrel over in Thrallmar just so people are aware that, you know, there’s the outside chance of a fucking BLACK DRAGON showing up one day, but other than that, pfft, whatever. It’s your planet, guys. Have fun.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go brush my teeth and take a nap before I start heading back to Azeroth. The hell with this shit.
Long live the king
So here’s a curveball I didn’t see coming. After I talked with Rexxar, I flew to Bloodmaul Ravine to see what was going on with the ogres. Sure enough, they all seemed a lot more relaxed than I would have figured. There used to be a time when the Bladespire and Bloodmaul ogres were at each other’s throats, but now they’re acting like old friends – joking around, drinking together, the whole nine yards. Thing is, though…if you take a few deep breaths around there, it’s not too hard to figure out why everybody’s so much more mellow.
Uh huh.
Let’s put it this way: felweed’s a hell of a drug.
And I know what you’re going to say – isn’t felweed used for potions, like isn’t it medicine? Well seriously, dude…it’s ALL medicine, you know?
So it took some looking around, but I finally tracked down this new king of the ogres at the cave that used to be Gruul’s lair. And you’ll never guess this one – the new king of the ogres? A fucking TROLL. Specifically, a troll witch doctor named T’chali. Which was a hell of surprise to me, as I’m sure it is for you too if you’ve heard of this guy, because last I knew, fucker was supposed to be DEAD, buried alive by the Bloodmaul ogres down at the southern end of the canyon. All he would say about that was “Reports of me deat’ be greatly exaggerated, mon,” whatever the hell that means, and I really don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore when people who are supposed to be dead turn up alive again, because apparently that’s just the thing to do these days.
Anyway, T’chali was just a bundle of laughs, by which I mean, dude couldn’t stop laughing his ass off over nothing in particular, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why, seeing as every five minutes he was offering me a hit from his hookah. I’m not even exaggerating, every other thing out of his mouth was “hookah, mon” this and “hookah, mon” that. Fucking stoner.
When he wasn’t busy cracking up over the fact that his feet moved when he walked, I was able to get the story out of him about how he ended up becoming king. A ways back he’d gone on a whole big chain of quests for the ogres to help them break free of Gruul and his sons – this was before Gruul finally got his ass handed to him a few years ago. Eventually after all he did to help them, the ogre mystics gave him the blessing to visit Ogri’la – I guess this is some kind of a big deal to these ogres – and proclaimed him king of the Bloodmaul and Bladespire alike. Based on what I can see, it wasn’t long before he got some brews going and got the hookahs fired up, and I’m going to stick my neck way, WAY out and say that productivity in ogre-land probably took kind of a dive right around that point.
T’chali did mention one thing that didn’t really hit me until I’d left. He had made a passing reference to getting some help in his adventures from a human named Baron Sablemane, who had an axe to grind with the gronn for killing countless relatives of his. It didn’t hit me until later that the gronn in Blade’s Edge Mountains had been responsible for killing huge numbers of black dragons…and that there had been a high-ranking black dragon in Outland named Sabellian…which would fit right into how COMPLETELY uncreative most of these dragons are about their humanoid alter egos. (I mean seriously, people WEREN’T supposed to figure out that Victor Nefarius was Nefarian? Really?) And it would also mean there’s a son of fucking Deathwing still running around loose in Outland.
I asked Rexxar about this when I got back to Thunderlord Stronghold, and check this out – not only does Rexxar know about this Baron Sablemane guy, and not only did he confirm T’chali’s description of him and his personality and his woe-be-to-Gruul-and-his-sons-for-slaughtering-my-kin obsession, all of which might as well have been capped off with giant glowing letters over his head that read <Hey Guess What Everyone I’m the Son of Deathwing>, but Rexxar actually considers this guy a FRIEND of his.
Apparently the thought never occurred to Rexxar that anything might be up with this guy. Um…BLINDERS, anyone? Seriously? So I figure I’m not getting a lot of help from Rexxar in checking up on this. So I’m going to pay T’chali another visit later tonight and see if I can get anything else useful out of him.
[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!]
Old God mop-up duty
Scouting reports have finally come in from around Kalimdor, after the business with the Old Gods’ spawn in Thal’darah Grove last week. The Twilight’s Hammer is definitely weakened and scattered in the aftermath of Deathwing’s defeat, but they’re still out there licking their wounds. As for the Old Gods and their minions themselves, that’s a little tricker. We don’t really know very much about the Old Gods proper – in the late stages of the war with Deathwing we kept hearing references to an Old God named N’Zoth, but we don’t have much idea where he’s hiding, or how many Old Gods are still out there, if any, or where they are.
That’s the thing about the Old Gods – however many of them are left, they’re hidden away somewhere, buried deep in the bowels of the earth or at the bottom of the sea. With the ones we’ve fought so far, C’thun and Yogg-Saron, we actually had a pretty easy time of it, since in both those cases they were contained in one location, and even then it’s hard to tell just how deeply and broadly they’d managed to take root in the surrounding area.
But for the ones still on the loose, it’s a whole other problem. All we really know is that there’s at least one more of them (strictly speaking, there’s probably at least TWO more of them, seeing as how the Twilights keep talking about the Old GODS rather than the Old GOD, or just plain That Dude N’Zoth), and that they’re located, well, DOWN THERE somewhere. Hell, one of them could be tucked away somewhere under Orgrimmar for all we know. I guess the Titans supposedly imprisoned them all underground, although, first of all, Titans, nice job letting the rest of us know where they ARE so we could maybe help keep an eye on them, or at least not go digging around too close and maybe accidentally let them loose delving too greedily and too deep, and second of all, bang-up job keeping the three we know about contained all air-tight like they have been. Hell, one of those three is STILL contained as far as we know, and it hasn’t stopped him (her? it? they? do we need to invent a whole new pronoun for these things?) from stirring up all kinds of trouble with Deathwing and Ragnaros and the Twilights.
And that’s not even getting into their fucking SPAWN, whatever the fuck that even means, like the faceless ones and the tendrils and whatever else. I mean, look at what happened in Dragonblight and you’ll see my point. Apparently these Old Gods have like a zillion of these creepy-ass offspring or minions or whatever the fuck, all burrowing around underground where they can just roll up on Wyrmrest Temple and pop out of the ground with those fucking gigantic living-mouths-with-tentacles, which by the way, what’s even the POINT of keeping the Old Gods “imprisoned” if they can apparently just shit out THOSE things at will and send them wherever they want?
So anyway, yeah. Old Gods suck.
Point being, the Old Gods are the real problem, but they’re also damn hard to pin down, so most of the time the best we can do is try to stay on top of the Twilight cult and hope that keeping them under wraps will help us put a damper on the Old Gods indirectly. Which brings us back to the scouting reports. We’re still seeing some pockets of Twilight activity in a few areas. In particular I’m getting some reports on a remaining enclave up in Mount Hyjal. I may make a trip up there to have a look myself. Not to mention it might be good to check in and get a little face time with Hamuul Runetotem, seeing as I never got around to sending him a “Get Well Soon” card after…well, you know. Although he’s seemed kind of uncomfortable around me ever since the first couple months I was Warchief. Not sure what’s up with that. Anyway, I’ll probably have a chance to talk to him soon.
Krom’gar’s shadows
I still don’t put a lot of stock in superstitious stories about things that go bump in the night. Turns out, there wasn’t some mysterious spooky stuff going on in Thal’darah Grove like the men were talking about with the whole “Krom’gar’s shadow” thing. I knew there had to be something reasonable and real behind it all, and hey, check it out, hold on to your ass for the surprise incoming – Garrosh was right again. I knew there had to be some kind of sensible explanation. Real as ghosts and goblins.
I just wish it was something other than what it was. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
So I went down to the grove yesterday afternoon to have a look around. Took a hell of an effort to get Mortimer to land there at all – I’m not sure if he just remembered the last time he was there and didn’t want to get too close again, or if something else was spooking him. Either way, he put up a fight before we finally managed to land, and even then, he was pretty antsy the whole time there.
The grove is just eerie to walk around in now. I’m not sure if that’s just based on my own memories of the place… It’s probably hard not to be creeped out by a place where you know you damn near got killed. (Then again, if that’s all it is, I’d probably better figure out a way to get over it, otherwise I’m on pace to run out of places where I WON’T feel creeped out. Thal’darah Grove? Check. Ring of Honor? Check. Twilight Highlands? Double check.) I don’t think it’s just me, though. Most of the debris from Krom’gar bomb has been cleared out, but the land still looks scarred from the explosion. Even with the work that’s been done to re-level the soil for replanting, the terrain just looks skewed, almost as it the ground itself is still trying to pull away from the impact point. At the very center of the impact, the ground still looks scorched.
And then there’s the smell. I don’t even know how to describe it, but it hangs in the air. How many months ago now? And you can still smell it. That stink of burning trees and charred flesh and sulfur and a hint of blood. I can’t think of any time ever in my life when a smell was PALPABLE – you can actually FEEL it on its way into your nose.
Most of all, though, the grove is just hauntingly still. I don’t mean quiet, or tranquil, or uneventful even. I mean STILL. Like the whole place was just frozen. Like the land itself decided it couldn’t bear what we’d allowed to happen here, and time decided it wasn’t going on another step. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound. Just endless stillness in an empty landscape under dank, ruined air.
Or maybe I’m letting my imagination run away with me. Who knows.
I looked around the grove for I don’t know how long, and didn’t really find anything noteworthy, other than tons and tons of nothing. I saw some of the attempts at construction D&U had mentioned, that had just crumbled apart, and walked through some of the failed attempts at fields. Nothing really telling, just mode fodder for the eerie heap. But I knew “it’s kinda spooky” really wasn’t any kind of an answer, so I just stayed around and kept watching, wandering in circles, looking around until dusk fell.
Then it started making more sense.
As the grove grew darker, I started spotting dark figures moving in the distance. I wasn’t even sure at first how many – it could have just been one weaving in and out of sight, or many, I wasn’t sure. Like I said, I’m not superstitious, but I’ve got to admit I couldn’t help but think of the name the men had given the weirdness here, and wonder if I was about to run into yet another dead Horde officer come back to haunt me. But the shapes I was seeing were much too big to be an orc, even hopped up from shadow-necro-whatchamafuckery, so I pulled myself together pretty quick and starting making double time around the grove to find out what they were. They were huge and lumbering, moving around slowly, actually lurking more than moving, but in the growing darkness I wasn’t able to get a clear look until I was almost on top of them.
Faceless ones. About a dozen or so, skulking around the place.
I don’t have to tell you I’ve already had way, way, WAY more than enough of all this Twilight Old God tentacle-beasty bullshit, so once I knew what I was dealing with I didn’t waste much time putting Gorehowl to work. As I was cutting through the first couple of those ugly fuckers, I started noticing more movement scattered around the grove. I kept making my way around, hunting down the faceless ones, and I was able to pin down the new shapes that were moving – tentacles, sprouting from the ground, budding out of the earth gradually, a few at a time, like some sick mockery of the fields we’d been trying to plant.
At least we know why the soil had turned bad on us, I suppose. And what had gone wrong with construction, too – while I was making my rounds I spotted a few of the tentacles lashing randomly at some of the half-finished scaffolding in the area. It’s really these tentacles that concern me a lot more than the faceless ones. I hacked down as many of them as I could, but who knows how much good it’ll do. It’s like when you have weeds in your garden – you can go around yanking out the stems all night, but who knows how deep the roots go.
I’d gotten reports of an infestation like this at Stonetalon Peak, tendrils sprouting from some sort of Old God spawn…apparently the infestation runs through more of the mountains than we thought. Granted, these particular beasties seem to be pretty small potatoes – the tentacles died fast enough, and even the faceless ones were a lot weaker than others I’ve run across before. Maybe the Old Gods are weakened some after what happened with Deathwing. Maybe not. Hard to say. Either way, though, I don’t much like the look of this, not least of all because if we have more of these tendrilly freakshows cropping up, it’s not much of a stretch to think there might still be some Twilights up to something too.
I’m going to have to send out some more recon teams to check up on this. Old Gods, Twilights, whatever, I don’t want any of them getting a chance to come up for air. Especially that damned cult. I kind of have an axe to grind with them. And by “grind,” I mean “cleave as deep as possible into each and every one of their skulls.”
Mag’hari house guest
Sorry I haven’t been posting the last week. I’ve been pretty busy here in Orgrimmar, and not even with anything big and momentous like wiping out the Alliance or even the aftermath of Deathwing biting it. This past week my Greatmother has been visiting from Nagrand, so I was showing her around and just generally keeping her out of trouble.
As it turns out, just getting her out here was a big production all by itself. I offered to send a mage to port her straight here, but oh no, no way, turns out apparently old people don’t trust mages and their new-fangled portals, no sir, so we had to arrange to get her out to the Dark Portal to come through that way. By the way, funny how she didn’t want to take a mage portal because those things are dangerous and unreliable, and yet she was totally okay taking the DARK PORTAL which by the way HAS “PORTAL” RIGHT IN ITS NAME TOO, only with dragon heads carved around it and warlocky fel magic buzzing all over it because we all know NOTHING ever went wrong with THAT.
So anyway, we finally got her out to the Dark Portal and through to the Blasted Lands, and then over to Grom’gol to catch the zeppelin up to Orgrimmar. On the way I hear tell she promised home-knit sweaters to a couple of the Grom’grol guards and one of the goblins on the zeppelin, because, you know, you really need a sweater when it starts getting nippy out there in the tropical jungle. I bet most of the problems the Darkspear ended up having in Stranglethorn could have been cleared right up if someone had through to crank out a few cardigans.
So we finally got her up here to Orgrimmar, and I have to admit, I was kind of hoping that she would be at least a LITTLE impressed with the place, or with me being Warchief, but oh no. First thing she comments on is how we’re still under construction even with the Cataclysm happening however many months ago, and how it wasn’t even that big of a cataclysm, not like in her day when Draenor literally got ripped into pieces, and us young ’uns have it so easy thinking a few earthquakes and some tidal waves count as a capital-C definite-article The Cataclysm – and meanwhile they had their settlements rebuilt in a few weeks. Which, everything else aside, yeah, like I needed another reminder of how those goblins are seriously taking their damn time on the construction work.
Oh wait, hold on, let me correct that. That wasn’t the first thing she commented on. No, the FIRST thing she commented on was the ritual tattoos I’ve gotten since the last time she saw me, like “Oh, is this what you kids are doing nowadays? All these young people running around with their tattoos, calling them ‘ritual’ and acting like that means they’re in touch with the ancestors. I know my ancestors knew the actual rituals. You know they’re only going to stretch and sag as you get older, don’t you? Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” Oh and then there were the pieces of Mannoroth’s tusks that I wear on my shoulders – “You wear those to work? For important meetings and everything?” And when I pointed out how they’re from Mannoroth, who killed my FATHER, and how I’d used parts of the pit lord’s remains to fashion the shoulders and my throne in Grommash Hold, all I got for that was “You don’t think that’s a little tacky?”
Also, as if all that wasn’t fun enough, for the first two days pretty much all I heard about was Thrall and how proud she is of him for saving the world from Deathwing and how great it is that he and Aggra are having a baby and by the way WHEN THE HELL WAS THRALL GOING TO TELL ME ABOUT THAT?! First the wedding and now this, the FUCK, man? And anyway, that was all kinds of fun, being reminded on and on about how awesome Thrall is, and how happy she is that she’s finally going to have great-grandchildren. And then she made some mention about how apparently Kilrath has a daughter around my age that she wants me to meet, and yeah that was all kinds of awkward. Ugh.
Over the next few days a bunch of the other Horde leaders came by to meet her and pay their respects, which I’ll admit was pretty cool of them, and she seemed to like Baine especially, gave him the whole “nice young man” deal that old ladies love to throw around. And everyone was nice to her, don’t get me wrong, but like…I mean, I know I can get cranky sometimes, but I really try to watch my mouth around Greatmother. Not least of all because if she catches me swearing she used to give me a good hard yank by my ponytail, which was one of the main reasons I cut it off eventually, but I’m also not in much of a hurry to find out what she would come up with for Plan B now that it’s gone. So anyway, I try to rein it in when I’m around her, but I swear the other leaders were making a point of giving me bad news in front of her and just generally saying things to see if they could set me off. Vol’jin especially. Meanwhile Greatmother just seemed to get a kick out of everyone. I don’t think she’s really clear on what the Forsaken actually are, though, what with her calling Sylvanas “that nice elf girl” that seems like she could use some sun. (More like she could use some SunWELL, am I right? OH YEAH I WENT THERE.) I’m thinking it’s just as well that I don’t clear that one up for her.
Anyway, that’s a sampling of my week, and I’m sure I’ll roll out a few more stories about it if you want to hear, maybe toss a few quotable quotes in the Twitter feed or something (#shitmygreatmothersays maybe). For right now, though, she just left to head back to Nagrand, so if you’ll excuse me, I have a tavern to go visit.
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Mission accomplished
Let’s get right down to brass tacks – Deathwing is dead!
Good job, Horde, I definitely probably couldn’t have done it without you. Well, I could have, but it would have been a way bigger headache.
From what I hear, at the very end Deathwing managed to step it up from standard crazy to hoo-boy molten tentacly super-crazy, but Thrall and the Dragon Aspects (now emeritus) were able to supercharge the Dragon Soul and go all kablooey on his ass.
The former Aspects came to Orgrimmar yesterday to deliver a piece of Deathwing’s jaw as a trophy (although let’s be honest, they could probably give a piece of Deathwing’s jaw to everyone they meet individually and still have plenty left over for the Wyrmrest gift shop – have you SEEN that dude’s jaw?). Thrall wasn’t able to make it because of something or other he needed to go back to Nagrand for with Aggra, but it was still cool to meet Alexstrasza, Nozdormu, Kalecgos, and Ysera.
Maybe not so much Kalecgos, actually. He was kind of mopey and whiney the whole time (you could say he was BLUE – GET IT? HAHA I crack myself up sometimes). Apparently he only had like a week left on his Aspect probationary period. I guess he just missed logging enough hours on the job for his pension to kick in. Kinda sucks, but I guess that’s the risk you take when you apply for a funding-conditional job.
Alexstrasza seemed cool and all, once you get past her apparently shopping at the same Respect My Strength But Look at These! outlet that Sylvanas goes to, but I’m also wondering if she just has trouble controlling whatever hocus-pocus she has going on. At one point Eitrigg’s pet worg went up to her and rolled onto its side. Alexstrasza obliged and rubbed its belly a little. Now the worg’s pregnant. Way to not know you own strength there, Life-Binder.
Anyway, they tell me they’re all going into semi-retirement now, and really, after thousands of years on the job (well, other than Kalecgos, but we’ve already covered that) they’ve probably earned some down time. Also this way the chances are much lower that another one of them will eventually go crazy and make us have to kill them. Well, except for Nozdormu, where we’ve pretty much already established that the chance is like 100%. So it goes.
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
