Tag Archives: mylune
Monday mailbag
So before I head out to check on the Temple of the Red Crane, I figured I’d make a quick mailbag check and dip into the latest batch of letters.
Hello sir. I’m one of Overlord Runthak’s trainees and I’ve been reading your blog for a long time. I’ve noticed that between Garona and Warlord Zaela, and even mailbag writers like Wega, you really seem to have a following among the ladies. My question is, how do you do it? I haven’t had much luck with the girls in my training group, and I bet it would help a lot if I knew your secret.
Thank you,
–Dol’akar
Hoo boy. This one again. See, Dol’akar, I wish it was that simple, but seriously, this is kind of like going up to Mylune and saying, “Teach me to be batshit crazy like you.”
Thing is, something like 85% of my game comes down to the fact that I look like a canister of distilled sexy, kick ass on two planets, and – let’s face it – lay the pipe like an army of plumbers in the Wetlands. And all that’s just natural. Now, since you’re a trainee, I’d like to tell you that part of your problem is that you’re still just a teenager, and adolescent awkwardness and blah blah blah, and things will get better as you get older, but honestly? I was doing just fine for myself when I was a teenager in Nagrand (I tell you, those draenei girls were crazy back in the day), so, you know…again, natural.
Still, if you think it’ll help you at all, I can let you in on the other 30% of my game. To start with, you want to buckle down in your combat training. This should help you in a number of ways. First off, it’ll keep you in good shape, which at least gives you an outside chance of offsetting a little sliver of the disadvantage of having no shot at being as dead sexy as me. Second, it’ll put you in a better position to beat the living crap out of any competition you might run into from among the other trainees. This will show the girls that you’re sensitive to their needs. Those needs being, of course, that they need to stop wasting their time on those other assholes and focus on you, and hey, what the fuck do you even think YOU’RE doing here, chump? But yeah, girls seem to like that sensitivity crap – don’t ask me why – so that should win you some points. And third, the better you do in battle, the faster you’ll be able to advance through the ranks.
Which brings us right to our next point: power is sexy. Let me tell you, after Nazgrim made the jump from Sergeant all the way up to Legionnaire and then General, he had women all over him. You know, until he crashed two ships and killed them all. But that’s a whole other thing. (This reminds me of another suggestion: Work on your piloting skills. Because why tempt fate?) Anyway, point being, moving up in the world can only help your chances. Just keep in mind that you’re looking at a hard cap of High Overlord, seeing as the only thing above that is Warchief, and we all know I’m not going anywhere for a long time.
Hope this helps.
Hey hey, Garry! Wazzup, my man?
I just built myself a chopper and it’s hella rad. Damn, but I look kickass ridin’ that hog! Got the ladies all over me. But then I thought I need some wicked cool tats to seal the deal, ya know what I mean? So I was flippin’ through some mags for ideas and whoa! Double page spread of Mr. Warchief-crush-your-head himself! And I’m like, “Dayum, that’s some fine art right there.” High five, buddy.
So… where’d you get your ink done? I need a parlor that can capture my style, yo.
–Fizzpop “The Fizz” Clutchgear
Sup, Fizz. First of all, before we go any further – I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again:
Okay, now that that’s out of the way.
Glad to see that somebody appreciates the tattoos. Oh, wait, lots of somebodies already do, of the female persuasion (see previous letter). But still, thanks anyway.
I had most of my tattoos done in that little window of relatively-not-fucked-up time just after becoming Warchief and just before the Cataclysm. They’re ceremonial markings from the Warsong clan, done by a Mag’har tattoo artist from Nagrand. I actually had him recommended to me by blademaster Burzum. He was always really helpful. You know, before he went all snarly-sha-crazy. But I digress.
I could put you in touch with the guy if you want to look him up. If you ever find yourself in Garadar, look for Vanteg. I hear he’s been in pretty high demand since word got out that he’d done the Warchief’s ink, so you might have to get on a waiting list. Feel free to drop my name, though. He might skip you ahead in line. Either that, or he’ll figure you’re another one of the people who show up and lie about knowing me, in which case, you know, sucks for you. Them’s the breaks.
Well, of course the Star-Tribune is biased. (Besides, I’m pretty sure that if you trace it through far enough, the Regent-Lord owns it.) That’s not the point. The official line has always been that the Regent-Lord is doing a fine, bang-up job. And, at least out loud and in public, everyone with an ounce of sense agrees. He’s not above having his guys straight-up mind-control people talking out of turn in public. For real-talk, you have to go to the shadowy dives off of Murder Row … and what’s new is that it’s getting harder to find dissent even there. It may be begrudged respect, but growing respect, nonetheless. People want to believe that the old Lor’themar is coming back, the man who used to be the Ranger-General’s second-in-command, the one who used to be … well, not completely useless. And perception can take on a reality all its own.
Then again, this may just mean that the magisters have started slumming, and everyone’s getting a helping of re-programming. It’d still have the same effect, and I’m not qualified to tell the difference.
–A Concerned Citizen
Hey, ACC. Good to hear from you as always.
So hang on, let me make sure I have this straight. You’re saying that Ponytail controls the media and information outlets in Silvermoon, is forcibly silencing dissent, and is subtly manipulating the population of his capital city into a hero-worshipping, glory-seeking, cult-of-personality bunch of jingoistic wahoos?
Hoo boy. That’s not good news for anybody any way you cut it.
Sir,
I was out picking herbs today to mill for me inscription training. It’s Father’s Day and I was picking Gromsblood, which got me to wondering … How do ye feel about having an herb that only grows in places tainted by fel magics be named after yer dad? And if it bothers ye, have ye ever thought of having it changed?
Sincerely,
–Kriann, Jr. Member, Explorers’ League
Hey, good to hear from you, Kriann. On the other hand, kind of sounds like you might be a dwarf, in which case, fuck you, Kriann. Anyway, thanks for writing.
So about the gromsblood. I see where you’re going with the fel-tainted thing, but that’s never really bothered me. For one thing, I usually just look at it as a name given to honor the awesomeness of my dad. It’s actually pretty fitting, in a way. Wherever there’s land infested with fel magic, wherever there are demons lurking about, there’s a little reminder of Grom, ready to give them the ol’ Mannoroth special. I usually don’t read much more into it than that.
Also, the fact of the matter is, it’s not at all uncommon to have an herb named after a prominent figure. There are tons of them. You probably know about Khadgar’s whisker, for instance, and then there was Arthas’ tears until that stupid ballot initiative passed and renamed them to sorrowmoss, because spirits forbid we should offend the spirit of Arthas and make him cry even more. But there are actually lots of other, more obscure ones that a lot of people haven’t heard about. For instance:
Creeping Sylvanas – Sometimes called the Syl-vine-us, although that’s actually inaccurate since it’s not technically a vine. This is a strange type of plant that’s created by herbicides. You spray your garden and kill the weeds…and then a few days later, those hey-weren’t-those-dead weeds grow back in the form of creeping Sylvanas. And start killing loads of other plants and turning THEM into creeping Sylvanas. And then after a while they seem to settle down and mostly get along with most of the regular vegetables in your garden, only you can’t quite shake the sinking feeling that maybe they’re up to something that you can’t put your finger on.
Broxigar Thornbush – The only plant ever known to harm Sargeras. Which is a weird distinction to keep track of, but I guess academics need something to do. Anyway, when Sargeras first arrived on Azeroth, he started ranting on and on about “dark titan” this and “destruction is nigh” that – you know, like you do when you’re a cartoonish bad guy – and then in the middle of this, he pricked himself on one of these thornbushes, and started howling pathetically about “Ouch my finger owies ow OWW!” Which kind of took the edge off the whole “fiery apocalypse” thing. Kind of gives you an idea of why the dude lost, though.
Lor’themar Pansy – Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, this isn’t a reference to the actual guy, but to a plant. As a general rule, if you see some frilly-looking flowers around somewhere, and you kind of recognize them, but you’re not sure what they’re called, so you’re all, “You know, those flowers. From the place. The red ones”? Those are probably Lor’themar pansies.
Cairne Blossom – This plant used to grow all over the place in Mulgore until Magatha tricked me into pruning it all. Oops.
Fordragon Lily – These tall, striking bulb plants were named for Bolvar Fordragon, since they used to grow all around his old outpost in the Dragonblight. For some reason, right at the end of the Northrend campaign, they all withered and mutated into a strain of lichbloom. I’ve never been able to figure that one out. I tried asking Tirion about it once, and he just got all quiet. Which is noteworthy because it was the only time in history that the words “Tirion” and “quiet” have ever appeared together in a sentence that didn’t also include the words “needs to be.”
Thrallvine – This stuff grows on the side of your house and pretty much just sits there being innocuous and not doing anything, other than making random passers-by yammer on about how awesome it is. Then out of the blue it goes on a crazy growth spurt so everywhere you look, there it is, until you’re just goddamn sick of looking at it all the time. I bet you could replace that shit with a way better plant that would make your house stronger and be nicer on the eyes to boot, but you’ll probably just wind up with a bunch of assholes bitching about it. Also your landlord seems to have an inexplicable, unhealthy attachment to the stuff so you know they’d never let you get rid of it.
That’s it for this time around. As always, keep those letters coming, and I’ll try to brighten your empty lives with my inspiring answers again soon.
Anger management
The other day I mentioned there being some meeting that Orphan Matron Battlewail wanted me to attend if I were serious about getting Gurtash. She had me check in with Social Services, which is being run by some goblins these days. Don’t ask me how that happened. But they filled in a little more of the story. They’ve got one of Ji Firepaw’s panda friends holding a kind of seminar on dealing with anger, and they’ve opened it up to anybody who wants to attend. The only catch – well, other than the fact that this whole fucking waste of time is one huge catch in itself since WTF why do these fuckers keep acting like I’ve got some kind of fucking problem with my goddamn temper or some shit – is that they want all the attendees to have someone come with them, sort of a sponsor. My first thought was to bring Malkorok, seeing as he’s technically my bodyguard and should be going places with me anyway, but then I got to thinking that this gig might not be the kind of thing that…well…let’s just say the purposes of the session might not be facilitated by having Malkorok in the room.
Plus, really, why do I need a bodyguard again? Isn’t that kind of like getting a watch dog to guard your giant rabid wolverine?
So, bottom line, I got Mokvar to come with me. Which also had the added benefit of…
Garrosh and Mokvar enter a room in which several chairs have been arranged in a circle. At the far end of the room, a middle-aged pandaren woman is talking with Eitrigg.
GARROSH: So, um, we’re here for the meeting? Not sure we’ve got the right place.
The pandaren woman, all smiles, walks over to greet them.
PANDAREN: Oh, no, you are in the right place, Warchief. It is good to see you again.
GARROSH: Yeah, you too. We’ve met?
PANDAREN: <laughs softly> Yes, a few weeks back, but I will understand if you do not remember me. You were meeting quite a few of us from the Wandering Isle that day.
GARROSH: Ah. Yeah. And to be honest, no offense, most of you pandas still sort of blend together for me.
PANDAREN: Are you saying my people all look alike to you?
GARROSH: Actually not so much all look alike as there are like six variations I can recognize.
MOKVAR: To be fair, I’m not sure we orcs are much better.
GARROSH: True enough. And the less said about the trolls the better.
MOKVAR: Well, Vol’jin stands out some.
GARROSH: Well yeah. I was going to ask the other day, actually – did he have some work done? He looks different.
MOKVAR: I was wondering that too! So I’m not the only one that noticed?
GARROSH: Dude, he sprouted an extra toe on the backs of his feet.
MOKVAR: Seriously? That’s freaky as hell.
GARROSH: I know, right? <looks back to the pandaren woman> Anyway…um…we can probably discuss this another time.
The woman smiles bemusedly.
PANDAREN: In any case, Warchief, it is good to meet you more properly now. <extends her paw> I am Ben-Lin Cloudstrider. I have been a student of meditation among our people for many years. I look forward to sharing some of these techniques with you today.
GARROSH: Yeah. Great. So listen, Ben, how long you figure this is going to take?
BEN-LIN: The session shall take as long as it takes.
GARROSH: Ah. One of those. Terrific.
MOKVAR: So, Eitrigg, what are you doing here?
GARROSH: Yeah, Eitrigg, you never struck me as having a temper.
EITRIGG: I don’t really. I’m not here for me; I’m sponsoring a friend. He just hasn’t gotten here yet.
GARROSH: Ah, okay. Wait…hold on…a “friend”? Please don’t tell me…
Tirion Fordring enters.
TIRION: Ah, greetings, Warchief! A pleasure as always to see you once again. And doubly so, of course, for you, Eitrigg, my dear friend of many years. Far too many days have passed since last we enjoyed each other’s company…
GARROSH: <rubbing his forehead> Dude, you just saw him a few weeks ago. I know. I was there.
TIRION: Perhaps! Perhaps, good Warchief! And perhaps indeed the calendar might insist that the interval has been short – but the spirit, my friend, the spirit tells me the time has been long! For surely, good Garrosh, you know of those times when the moments feel far longer than the clock might otherwise claim.
GARROSH: <still rubbing his forehead> All too well, Tirion…
MOKVAR: Eitrigg, I’m still not sure I understand. Tirion never struck me as very temperamental either.
Eitrigg, standing behind Tirion, makes a drinking motion with his hand.
Ah. Got it.
BEN-LIN: It appears more of our attendees are arriving. I should introduce myself, if you will pardon me a moment.
Ben-Lin steps toward the door, where Lor’themar Theron enters, accompanied by Liadrin. While Ben-Lin talks to them, Faranell enters and walks over to Garrosh and Mokvar.
GARROSH: Hey, Doc.
FARANELL: Hey.
MOKVAR: You’re here for the meeting too, Edwin?
FARANELL: Mmhmm. As soon as I heard about this, I cleared my schedule for this afternoon.
MOKVAR: I didn’t know you had anger issues.
FARANELL: I don’t.
Faranell sits down and takes out a large bag of popcorn.
Lor’themar and Liadrin leave Ben-Lin and approach Garrosh et al. Ben-Lin circles around and talks with Tirion and Eitrigg in the background.
MOKVAR: Hey Liadrin.
LIADRIN: Hello, Mokvar. Edwin. Warchief.
GARROSH: Hey, Liadrin. Who’s your friend? Is he sponsoring you or something?
LOR’THEMAR: You see? YOU SEE? This is EXACTLY what I was talking about! Every time! EVERY SINGLE TIME! No matter HOW many damn times I meet them, the NEXT time it’s always “Oh, so who’s this guy?”
LIADRIN: Now now, try to calm down, sir…
GARROSH: Okay, standing corrected on who’s sponsoring who here.
LIADRIN: This has been a long time coming, frankly.
GARROSH: Yeah, fine, but seriously, who IS he?
LOR’THEMAR: <shaking Garrosh violently> I’M LOR’THEMAR THERON, YOU PEA-BRAINED, MOUTH-BREATHING OAF! RULER OF SILVERMOON! LEADER OF THE BLOOD ELVES! I BUILT YOU A DAMN MANA BOMB TO COMMIT WAR CRIMES WITH, YOU IGNORANT VULGARIAN!
GARROSH: <shoving Lor’themar back> YOU’RE the vulgarian, you fuck!
FARANELL: <munching on popcorn> So much better than doing culture samples with Zinge.
LOR’THEMAR: How DIFFICULT is it to remember WHO SOMEONE IS after you MEET THEM FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME?!
GARROSH: Apparently VERY, when the someone in question isn’t frigging IMPORTANT enough to be REMEMBERED, Ponytail!
MOKVAR: He blew up about this on our game the other day, actually.
LIADRIN: I heard.
MOKVAR: Has he been at it all this time?
LIADRIN: More or less. This is something he’s been bottling up for a while, really.
Ben-Lin returns to the group, with Tirion and Eitrigg close behind.
BEN-LIN: If we might all find our seats. The last few should arrive shortly.
Everyone settles into the chairs.
Good afternoon, all of you, and thank you for coming today. I am Ben-Lin Cloudstrider of the Huojin Pandaren, and I will be conducting today’s session. My people chose to join the Horde in large part because of our shared belief in confronting challenges directly, and it is in that spirit that I would like to commend each of you for coming here today. By choosing to attend, you have demonstrated your recognition of an enemy of sorts within yourselves, and your resolve to face and defeat that enemy.
GARROSH: Pfft, I don’t know about these people, but I got railroaded by the orphan matron. Screw this personal-growth hippie bullshit.
LOR’THEMAR: Same here. <nods head toward Liadrin> This one twisted my arm.
GARROSH: Personally I think the whole thing is a load of crap.
MOKVAR: Would it really kill you to just bite your tongue and humor people this one time?
LIADRIN: <sighs> I wonder what it would be like if some of our leaders were actually adults…
BEN-LIN: Ah. I am sensing resistance from some of you. This is unfortunate. I hope you will come to see the merit of our activities as we go along. Let us begin by each introducing ourselves and telling the group why we are here.
She turns to Faranell.
Let us begin with you. Would you like to introduce yourself to the group, my friend?
FARANELL: <tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth> It would make my life complete.
BEN-LIN: <unfazed> Delightful. Please go on.
FARANELL: Yeah, fine. Hey. I’m Edwin. Most of you already know that. All of you, actually, so good use of time here. Don’t mind me, I’m just here for the LOL’s.
BEN-LIN: <blinks> Ah. I see.
She turns hesitantly and looks to Tirion.
And you, sir?
TIRION: Thank you, Lady Cloudstrider, many thanks indeed, both for your gracious greeting and for your generosity in offering up your valuable time – time very much in demand, I have no doubt, among your people – in arranging this gathering for the benefit of all here. And a great honor, and, indeed, blessing it is to find myself today amid this honored company, for as I look about the room I find my gaze met by the faces of many of the most esteemed of our respective peoples…
GARROSH: Oh man. He’s ON today…
TIRION: And so, in keeping with your request, noble Lady Cloudstrider, allow me to introduce myself. I am Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade, Knight of the Silver Hand, master of Mardenholde Keep, bearer of the secred Ashbringer—
GARROSH: Murderer of Wills to Live…
TIRION: —and I find myself here today among you at the recommendation of my dear friend, the noble and sage orc Eitrigg, who suggested this gathering might prove valuable to me, both for my personal growth and likewise in allaying the oft-expressed concerns of some number of my Argent colleagues, such as the hallowed Confessor Palteress and my personal aide, the noble Miss Daria L’Rayne…
The door to the room opens, and Hamuul Runetotem leans in.
HAMUUL: Excuse me, is this the anger management seminar?
BEN-LIN: Indeed it is, my friend.
HAMUUUL: Ah, good. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.
GARROSH: Yes, you are, and thank goodness.
BEN-LIN: Please come in.
Hamuul steps into the room, holding the door open, and waves outside.
HAMUUL: Come on in, it’s the right place.
A nervous-looking Mylune enters.
BEN-LIN: <glancing down at a clipboard> Ah, you must be the two from Mount Hyjal.
HAMUUL: Yes. I’m Hamuul Runetotem, and this is my…colleague Mylune.
GARROSH: Oh man. Hide your kittens…
MYLUNE: <perks up> There are kittens?
GARROSH: Oh yeah, loads of them in the Cleft of Kittens.
MYLUNE: Ooh! Ooh! There’s a Cleft of Kittens? Where’s that?
GARROSH: Right at the southern end of the Valley of Ridiculous Hallucinations – it’s fucking ORGRIMMAR. What the hell do you think this is?
MYLUNE: <deflated> Oh. I thought there might be kittens…
HAMUUL: Perhaps just as well, given your recent…episode.
MYLUNE: <slumps her head and closes her eyes> I don’t know what you’re talking about.
HAMUUL: Mylune, we’ve already talked about your trying to block these things out.
MYLUNE: No no, I’m not blocking it out! Blocking what out? See? Happy face! Happy face! Oh, everything’s so wonderful and magical and whee! And…and…
She looks around quickly and grabs up a small scorpion that’s skittering along the ground.
And ooh, hello Mr. Scorpid, aren’t you a tough little prickly darling! <hugs the scorpion to her bosom> Auntie Luney sure is happy to see you! Yes she is! Yes she—oww! OWW! Dammit, that stings like HELL, you stupid pinchy ASSHOLE!
Mylune throws the scorpion viciously against the wall.
It wasn’t even that cute!
GARROSH: So… I take it that time in Mulgore wasn’t an isolated incident…?
HAMUUL: Not as such.
MYLUNE: Oh…oh no, no, no… I did it again! <sobbing> Why do I keep doing that? <putting her hands over her face as the sobbing continues>
HAMUUL: There there…
BEN-LIN: It is all right. You are among friends now.
GARROSH: Well let’s not get carried away.
MYLUNE: <rubbing one hand on her chest> That still kind of stings a little, actually…
BEN-LIN: We are here to help you. Have you had other moments like this recently?
MYLUNE: I…well…I was in Winterspring a few days ago…and there were these bunnies…and…and…
GARROSH: Not so much with the bunnies anymore, I’m guessing.
MYLUNE: I couldn’t help it! I just wanted to pet them, and… <rubs her chest again> Okay, you know what? I think that scorpion might have been venomous.
Hamuul sighs and starts casting healing spells on Mylune.
HAMUUL: Seriously? You have venomous scorpions just wandering around?
GARROSH: Hey, I don’t usually figure people are going to go around rubbing them on their boobs.
MOKVAR: Did you really have to give me that mental image?
GARROSH: I mean we usually don’t have people around here showing that level of stupid. And that’s even figuring how much time Dontrag and Utvoch spend here.
LOR’THEMAR: Who?
GARROSH: You’re better off not knowing.
LIADRIN: Really, sir.
BEN-LIN: Perhaps we should move on. <turns to Lor’themar> Let us turn to you now. You are…?
LOR’THEMAR: Ugh. See? SEE? THIS is EXACTLY what I’m talking about! I introduced myself to you not TEN MINUTES AGO! But does anyone remember something like that? NO! OF COURSE NOT!
LIADRIN: Sir, I think she was just asking you to—
LOR’THEMAR: Don’t defend her, Liadrin! People do this every damn day, and there’s always some excuse for them! Either that, or it’s just “Oh, okay. Lor’themar? Whatever.” YES, whatever. It’s LOR’THEMAR! LOR’THEMAR FUCKING THERON, Regent-Lord of Quel’Thalas! That’s who I am! Lor’themar! Do you hear me? All of you? LOR’THE-FUCKING-MAR! One of the only racial leaders on either side who hasn’t managed to make a complete cluster fuck of something yet, but does anyone remember? NO! NO THEY DON’T!
BEN-LIN: Well then. I was going to ask you why you are here, but I think you have already answered that. So let us move on. <turns to Garrosh> And you, sir?
GARROSH: Huh? Oh, yeah. <waves half-heartedly> So yeah, Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde. Son of Grom, slayer of Alliance, writer of EPIC VERSE, eater of lemon squares, yadda yadda.
HAMUUL: Wait, he writes poetry?
MOKVAR: He’s actually surprisingly good at it.
BEN-LIN: And why have you come here today, my friend?
GARROSH: Humoring the orphan matron, pretty much. Didn’t we already cover this? She basically said I needed to attend this thing before she would sign off on this orphan I was looking into maybe adopting.
LIADRIN: Wait, what?
EITRIGG: Adopting?
HAMUUL: Oh spirits help us…
GARROSH: WHY does everybody fucking react like that every time I mention this? I talked about it on my blog, too, and all the commenters were like “Holy crap no!”
HAMUUL: Wait, he blogs, too?
FARANELL: <munching> I so should have brought some ale for this.
Tirion passes Faranell a flask.
Oh, hey, thanks.
EITRIGG: I thought we’d agreed you were going to hold off on the… <makes a drinking motion with his hand> …while we were here for the meeting.
TIRION: Surely, friend Eitrigg, you would not deny me a simple bracing beverage before an undertaking that calls upon my resolve.
EITRIGG: Now we both know the “liquid courage” excuse doesn’t hold here, Tirion.
GARROSH: So hold up, you mean Highlord Paragraph here likes to retreat into the bottle, and goes all angry drunk and shit?
EITRIGG: And sometimes ends up burning small animals as a result…
MYLUNE: He WHAT?!
TIRION: My fine and noble friend, I would remind you that the episode with the penguins was, in broad, strokes, an isolated incident, and—
MYLUNE: Penguins?!
BEN-LIN: Now you see, here we may have a fine instructive moment. While we may all have our moments of anger, it is when we allow that anger to manifest in actions that we risk unleashing the worst upon the loved ones around us…
MYLUNE: <fidgeting nervously and looking to Hamuul> Pen…penguins! What did he do to the penguins…?!
EITRIGG: Suffice to say it involved a cane.
BEN-LIN: And so, when you experience these moments, Tirion, you must remember to use your words.
GARROSH: Wait, seriously?
TIRION: Sage counsel indeed, good Lady Cloudstrider, and perhaps you are right, and I have been far too reticent…
GARROSH: Fucking hell, do you realize what you’re DOING, lady?
MYLUNE: He…he…he attacked the poor penguins with a cane?
EITRIGG: Far better than the kittens got…
TIRION: My dear Eitrigg, you know perfectly well that I take little pride in the unfortunate incident involving the, shall we say, premature feline incendiaries, and—
MYLUNE: Incendi— you burned kittens?!
GARROSH: Yeah, bet you’re glad we don’t have any here now, aren’t you? Not safe to have them around Captain Shortfuse Longwind here.
MYLUNE: <trembling with eyes growing large and dewy> Hamuul, did you hear that? He…he…the kittens…he…
Hamuul pulls a teddy bear out of his pack and dangles it in front of Mylune, who immediately snatches it up.
Oh oh oh what a cute cuddly fuzzy huggy teddy bear squee!
LOR’THEMAR: Wow she’s unstable…
GARROSH: Look in a mirror lately, blondie? Who are you to judge?
LOR’THEMAR: <jumping up and knocking his chair over> Who am I? WHO AM I? LOR’THEMAR THERON, that’s who! LOR’THE-FUCKING-MAR THERON!
LIADRIN: Sir, really, you should try to—
LOR’THEMAR: You stay out of this, Liadrin! I’ve HAD IT with this walking jaw with a gym card acting like he doesn’t fucking KNOW me!
GARROSH: I know you’ll snap in half nice and easy if you don’t figure out a way to ZIP it right quick, Hair-Care!
MYLUNE: <swaying from side to side while hugging the tebby bear> Oh don’t listen to them, Mr. Huggles, it’s okay, it’s okay! You just be all sweet and snuggly and don’t worry about the mean people!
LOR’THEMAR: Why don’t you MAKE me zip it! Or do you need damn BOMB to drop on me for that?!
GARROSH: I’ll SHOW you a fucking BOMB, Ponytail!
Garrosh lunges at Lor’themar and flings him violently against the wall. Lor’themar pulls himself up and tries to rush back at Garrosh, only to have Garrosh grab him and put him in a headlock. Mokvar and Liadrin pull at Garrosh’s arm to try to loosen his grip.
MOKVAR: Really, boss, not helping your own cause here…
GARROSH: Hope you weren’t too fond of that frigging OXYGEN, Lor’the-Whatever-the-Fuck-Your-Name-Is!
LOR’THEMAR: <wrenching himself out of Garrosh’s hold and swinging at him wildly> LOR’THEMAR! MY NAME IS LOR’THEMAR! SAY IT! SAY IT! SAY MY NAME, BITCH!
Mylune is still rocking back and forth, holding the teddy bear while trembling.
MYLUNE: Now now don’t you let them upset you, Mr. Huggles… <absently rips off one of the teddy bear’s ears> It’s okay…it’s all okay… They’re not mad at you, no no, they’re not… <rips off the bear’s other ear, sobbing> It’s all going to be okay someday, I promise, Huggles, Auntie Luney promises…!
FARANELL: <mouth half-full of popcorn> I love this meeting so much I want to marry it and have a family of little caucuses.
LOR’THEMAR: I’m SICK AND TIRED of being IGNORED by this damn GORILLA!
Mokvar and Liadrin try with mixed success to pull the two away from each other.
GARROSH: Don’t worry, metro, you’ll be getting PLENTY of attention while I’m smearing you all over the floor!
LOR’THEMAR: Stop holding him back! I’m not scared of him! I can take him! Unless maybe he’s POISONED his DAMN AXE again!
GARROSH: OH you will DIE EXTRA SLOW for—
Tirion jumps Garrosh and Lor’themar and pushes them away from each other. He looks back and forth sternly.
TIRION: Gentlemen, please! Surely no one can benefit from our turning on each other in such a way. Now then… <looks back and forth between Garrosh and Lor’themar again> Let’s have a drink. And calm down.
EITRIGG: <sighs> Tirion…
BEN-LIN: It occurs to me that perhaps our goals would be better served by a few one-on-one sessions before we attempt to discuss our issues in a group…
Mylune suddenly grabs Ben-Lin from behind and hugs her back against herself.
MYLUNE: Ohhhh has anyone ever told you you’re like a big giant warm fuzzy snuggly teddy bear yourself, Miss Cloudy-bear?
BEN-LIN: <looking around somewhat panicked, but clearly trying to maintain her composure> So…with that in mind…let us adjourn for the day. I will be in touch with each of you to arrange individual meetings. We…we have much work to do…
LIADRIN: Come on, sir, let’s just go back to Silvermoon…
Liadrin drags Lor’themar out of the room. The others begin to make their way out as well, except for Mylune, who continues hugging Ben-Lin.
MYLUNE: So huggly and cuddly and so so adorable! I could just squeeze you all day, little bear!
Faranell gets up and walks over to Ben-Lin and Mylune on his way toward the door.
FARANELL: So, I’m going to give you my contact info… Please, please tell me if there are any more of these meetings. I will buy a ticket if I need to.
This has got to be some kind of a hazing thing. Or Battlewail is doing some kind of weird trial to test my resolve, to see just how serious I am about the Gurtash thing.
Gotta tell you, though, if I have to go hang out with that crew again, I’m not sure I like even that kid enough…
More soon.
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Monday mailbag
It’s been a while since the last mailbag, so while I’ve got a break in the action, let’s see what’s piled up the last few weeks…
Since Faranell has effectively retired from the Royal Apothecary Society, I’m wondering if Sylvanas is taking applications for a new Master Apothecary? I’m a veteran alchemist who’s been at the craft for several years. I even worked out a formula to turn myself into a dragon – rar! Any chance you could put in a good word for me?
–Karelien, Silvermoon City
Sorry to tell you, Karelien, the master apothecary job is already filled. Once it got decided that Faranell was being moved over to Hearthglen, Sylvanas went ahead and did a promotion from within, and appointed Apothecary Zinge to take over as head of the RAS. If you want, I could maybe see about getting you into some kind of entry-level position over there. Not what you were shooting for, I know, but you have to start somewhere. I get the sense that Sylvanas doesn’t do a lot of hiring from the outside, so if you want to have any shot at all at the higher positions, you probably need to already be on the ladder.
If you do land a job over there, by the way, could I maybe ask you to keep an eye on Overseer Kraggosh, and just try to discourage him from packing away so many cheesy steak melts? I’m all for steak, but I swear the Undercity’s got rivers of viscous slime that have a smoother flow to them than that dude’s arteries.
Do you know where Mankrik’s wife be at?
–Bob, Echo Isles
Oh, geez, this guy again.
I already addressed this one like a zillion times last year, when I was making an inspection stop in the Barrens. Where – just to recap – somebody was asking about Mankrik’s wife like every five minutes. Over and over. Fuck, people are annoying.
Here’s where the joke’s on you, though, Bobby-Boy. Back THEN, I might have taken the bait and started ranting at you about his wife having a memorial and all that shit. NOW, though, you ask me where Mankrik’s wife is, and you know what? You’re gonna have to specify WHICH ONE. That’s right, over the last year or so, our boy Mankrik has managed to calm down a little (and holy shit did he need it), courtesy of a whole bunch of consoling and support from this Earthen Ring shaman named Mahka. The two of them wound up growing pretty close, and a few months ago, they decided to make it official and held a quiet life-mate ceremony in Mulgore. If you’re wondering why you didn’t hear about this, well, let’s face it, Thrall’s wedding pretty much pushed everybody else’s deal to the back pages. Self-Important Green Savior Finally Gets Some, stop the presses. Whatever.
Oh, and for the record, the first Mrs. Mankrik? Still dead. Let’s hope things stay that way (you never know about that shit these days), or things might get kind of awkward.
So, crossbow to your head, what do you think – Mylune or Garona? You know what I’m askin.
–Backstab Bladeflurry
Okay, so before I answer your question, Backstab, I have to ask. That’s your name? Seriously? Backstab Bladeflurry? I mean, I KNOW that can’t be your ACTUAL name, because I don’t think ANYONE could hate their kid that much. But you know, the thought that you made up a name for yourself, and that’s the one you came up with…that might actually be even sadder. Seriously, dude, how old are you? Because that sounds like the kind of name you would get if you let a 10-year-old name himself, assuming “Videogame K. Dinosaur” was already taken.
Also, I’m guessing you’re…what…a rogue? Gonna stick my neck WAY out there. Come on, man, if you’re going to make up a name for yourself, it’s bad enough you’re making it a stupid-sounding name. But a stupid-sounding name that’s just a list or your class abilities? Come on. Do you think people would take me seriously if I went around introducing myself as Overpower Heroicstrike? Or maybe Saurfang could start calling himself Cleave McCleaveyouagain? (To be fair, he might possibly be able to carry that off.) Or, hey, Liadrin is a paladin, maybe she should start calling herself Holy Divine Light Shield Shock Hammer Flash Righteous Hand. Really, the only time that kind of a name even kind of worked was with Rend Blackhand, and look how great things wound up going for him.
Anyway, I just had to get that out of my system. Now for your question.
No.
I’m writing to ask if you have any idea why people keep trying to kill me. I’m generally a fairly peaceful fellow, but random strangers keep coming into the inn where I’m just trying to have a drink and attacking me. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but they’re not leaving me any choice but to defend myself. But I don’t understand why they keep doing it.
–Gamon, Orgrimmar
Yeah, Gamon, I’ve heard the ruckus over there a few times, what with you having to lay the smackdown on some noobs every once in a while. Gotta be honest, this one has me stumped. I can’t think of any reason people might have for coming after you, you’ve always seemed like a pretty good dude to me. Maybe… I know it’s kind of the pat to-go answer for people going all violent and hostile, but I don’t know, like…the Old Gods? Maybe? Dunno.
Good luck not dying, though.
I am writing to you on behalf of His Lordship, the honorable Tirion Fordring. In the interests of saving time and paper, I have volunteered to write this note to you in the Highlord’s stead.
The Highlord appreciates the faith you demonstrated in entrusting him with the supervision of Dr. Edwin Faranell. In that same spirit of good faith, the Highlord wishes to make you aware of certain oddities that have recently occurred involving the doctor.
The good doctor has generally been adjusting well to his new life here in Hearthglen, but the past several days he has experienced momentary bouts of disorientation, in which he has become briefly confused as to what is going on around him. Following these episodes, he has claimed to have experienced what would seem to be a kind of hallucination: seeing and hearing events transpiring around him that clearly did not occur.
The Highlord suspects that the doctor is suffering from some sort of mental distress as a result of the radical change his life has undertaken. Lord Fordring is quite concerned about Dr. Faranell’s well-being, and would welcome the opportunity to discuss this turn of events with you further. We have faith that we may yet guide the doctor to a successful acclimation to his current time and place.
–Daria L’Rayne, Argent Crusade
Oh crap, here we go. I’d hoped that Faranell would be able to settle in without any problems, but I guess that was wishful thinking. I can’t say I’m really surprised that he’s kind of shellshocked by the whole thing – I mean, if YOU woke up one morning and all of a sudden it was years later, and half the people you used to know were dead, and the other half were zombies, and whole dominions had risen and fallen, and spirits know how many other things had gone down, yeah, you’d probably have a hard time just walking that off, too. I know I would probably shit a brick.
So, I guess I’m going to need to take a trip over to Eastern Kingdoms again to go see Tirion. I wonder if there’s any way I could get this Daria chick to hold the info session rather than Tirion, though – she seems like she would probably be a lot less painful to talk to, not least of all because I’m pretty sure this letter would have filled up about 37 pages minimum if it were Tirion writing it. Damn good thing he’s got a logging camp right nearby, considering all the paper he probably goes through, is all I’m gonna say.
So, yeah, I’ll have to see about getting that trip lined up. That said, though, seriously, I was just OVER in Eastern Kingdoms like two days ago. Would it really KILL people to time these crises so that I don’t have to go zig-zagging all over the map? So fucking inconsiderate.
That’s all for this week. I’m going to try to be a little more consistent about posting mailbags, so keep those letters and questions coming – first because it’s always good to hear from my loyal readers and minions, second because I’m always happy (well, usually happy…well, sometimes happy…okay, okay, occasionally it doesn’t totally piss me off) to answer your questions, and third because YOUR WARCHIEF DEMANDS IT. Send those letters to me at garrosh1337@gmail.com, and I’ll do another roundup in a couple weeks.
Attack of the petting zoo
Okay, so we’ve established that something fishy is going on with these gear-toting animals, pretty much all over the place. Since I brought up the issue earlier in the week, I’ve been getting reports flooding in from all quarters about animals carrying weapons and armor. And then, a couple days ago, I had my bizarre and disturbing trip to the plateau in Mulgore where a zillion and one critters and zipping around with knives and helmets and…I don’t know, at this point I’m surprised they don’t have fucking rocket launchers or something.
I don’t much like the way this is going right within view of Thunder Bluff. I also figured that with so much crazy-ass stuff going on with animals, it might be a good idea to check in with our own resident nature-boys, the druids. So, I decided to kill two birds with one stone (and hope the metaphorical birds weren’t carrying, you know, metaphorical explosives armed with metaphorical dead-man’s switches) and bring this business to the attention of Thunder Bluff’s very own head-honcho druid, Hamuul Runetotem.
Hamuul was as disturbed by all of this as I was, and decided he wanted to check on things personally. We flew over to the Critter Plateau of WTF earlier today, and seeing as this seemed like one of those “let’s keep a record of shit” occasions, I sent word to Orgrimmar for Mokvar to fly over and meet us there.
Apparently, before he left, Mokvar and the messenger I’d sent had a few go-rounds of “Why does Garrosh want me to fly out there again?”, “No, really,” “Seriously, what’s the actual reason?”, and so on.
Gotta be honest. I don’t blame you one bit, Mokvar.
Hamuul Runetotem rejoins Garrosh and Mokvar after circling around the plateau in flight form.
GARROSH: So, what’s the verdict, Hamuul?
HAMUUL: Very peculiar…
GARROSH: Wow, peculiar. I’m glad I brought you in on this. Keen insight right there, dude.
HAMUUL: Clearly someone is tampering with the conduct of these creatures, though I’m at a loss to speculate as to who.
GARROSH: Well, yeah, obviously they didn’t smith this stuff up themselves.
HAMUUL: Indeed.
GARROSH: So any other bright ideas about… <looks up> Hold up…
A brown and violet eagle flies up to the group and shapeshifts into Malfurion Stormrage.
GARROSH: Wait – the hell?
HAMUUL: Greetings, Shan’do.
MALFURION: A pleasure as always, Hamuul.
GARROSH: What is HE doing here?
HAMUUL: I took the liberty of bringing this matter to the attention of certain allies.
GARROSH: Uh, yeah, LITERALLY Allies.
MALFURION: <nods to Garrosh> Warchief.
GARROSH: <nods back> Antlers.
HAMUUL: It would be a courtesy to address him by his actual name.
GARROSH: Meh, Malfunction Stormface, Antlers McBeardyface, po-tay-to, po-tah-to, boo hoo.
HAMUUL: <to Malfurion> Probably the best we’re going to get.
MALFURION: Good enough.
GARROSH: Okay, so now that we’re all buddies and shit, do I get to find out why we’ve got one of the night elf leaders rolling on through Horde territory like it’s something to do?
HAMUUL: I thought Master Stormrage might be of some aid in determining the cause of these unnatural developments.
MALFURION: I can be on my way just as easily if you prefer.
GARROSH: Yeah, whatever, fine, I’ll cut you some slack what with the whole Ragnaros thing. I suppose you might have a good read on some of these animals, what with…you know…you practically being one and all.
MALFURION: I’m a druid. We all take on animal forms.
GARROSH: Yeah, right I get that. But… <gestures toward the feathered wings on Malfurion’s arms and the bear paws he has for feet> …you know…
MALFURION: <sighs> All right, one last time…
HAMUUL: You don’t have to.
MALFURION: No, it’s fine. I get this all the time.
HAMUUL: If you wish.
MALFURION: As a result of the years my spirit dwelled within the Emerald Dream, I gradually took on the attributes of many of the creatures whose forms we druids assume.
GARROSH: Yeah, but…dude, you’ve got paws.
MALFURION: Yes, and?
GARROSH: That doesn’t weird people out a little? I mean, okay, I don’t really know how you night elves roll, other than, y’know, how you roll over dead after you get chopped up a little, but…
MOKVAR: Sadly, this really is him on his good behavior.
GARROSH: I’m serious! Don’t you get sick of the “get your paws off me” jokes at home or whatever?
MALFURION: <rolling eyes> I’ll have you know, if anything, Tyrande really seems to go for—
HAMUUL: Hush, Malfurion!
MALFURION: …
GARROSH: HAH! Did you just shush him? Because that’s kind of awesome.
HAMUUL: <sighs> The point. Being. Master Stormrage kindly offered his aid in determining what has been happening with these animals…
GARROSH: Yeah, fine, whatever. Let him help. Are we going to have any more special guests showing up that I need to be warned about?
A giddy squeal can be heard in the distance, followed by the voice of…
MYLUNE: Oh look at all the adorable bunnies!
HAMUUL: Actually…
GARROSH: You…didn’t.
Mylune prances past the others, excitedly racing after random rabbits and prairie dogs.
MYLUNE: They’re just so cute and warm and soft and snuggly and squee!
GARROSH: After last time? Really?
MALFURION: In Hamuul’s defense, she just happened by when he was explaining the situation to me.
HAMUUL: She heard “rabbits and prairie dogs,” and, well, that was pretty much that.
GARROSH: Okay, fine, let her do her thing. Maybe she’ll fall down a rabbit hole or something. In the meantime…
MYLUNE: Oooh and cute little prairie dogs too! Yay!
GARROSH: …um…any other insights on what’s going on up here?
MALFURION: Obviously the creatures are being armed by someone, but based on how these animals are reacting to us, they’re unaccustomed to a humanoid presence.
HAMUUL: A druid, then, appearing in animal form?
MALFURION: Most likely. Not any affiliated with us, though, I can’t imagine.
Mylune continues scampering around the plateau, chasing assorted critters and emitting happy squeals at frequencies only occasionally perceptible to the orcish ear.
GARROSH: Well riddle me this, Antlers. How do I know some of your Alliance buddies aren’t behind this?
MALFURION: Warchief, I could try to hide behind some sort of sweeping statement of principle, but even setting that aside, look around. If the Alliance were going to encroach on Horde territory, do you really believe this is the best idea they could come up with?
GARROSH: Point.
MALFURION: The Alliance leadership may be many things, but they’re not idiots.
MOKVAR: You’ve met Varian, right?
Mylune grabs at a rat, which wriggles around in a desperate, ill-fated attempt to escape her grasp.
MYLUNE: Oh no no no, Mr. Sneaky Rat, you don’t get away that easy, silly thing! You mousey-faces need love too!
GARROSH: By the way, did she miss the part about them being, you know, armed and shit?
HAMUUL: I’m fairly sure she just hears “cute animals,” and the rest becomes something of a blur.
A few prairie dogs gather up closer to Mylune, while a group of rabbits hop over to her. One bounces up into her hands, which sets off a torrent of joyful squealing.
MYLUNE: Ohhhhh I love you too, little bunny rabbit!
She squeezes the rabbit against her, only to have it bounce free. While she tries to regain her grasp on the rabbit, some of the other critters gather around closer to her.
MYLUNE: No no, Mr. Bunny, I’ve got— ooh careful with your teeth there, Mr. Bunny, those are a little sharp—! But don’t worry, I won’t drop— eek! Careful, little bunny, you really have some choppers, hee hee!
GARROSH: Um, is it my imagination, or are they…?
Several critters gather around Mylune, and, while she tries to resume hugging her original rabbit, a second rabbit hops up onto her shoulder and starts weakly swinging at her neck with the tiny axe it carries in its mouth.
MYLUNE: Now settle—ouch!—settle down, silly little Bunny-Pants, Auntie Luney—oof!!—Now stop that, you little cutie-pie!
Some of the prairie dogs run in close to Mylune’s hooves and start jabbing at her with their tiny daggers.
MYLUNE: Noooo, silly little—eek!—little fuzzy-wuzzies! OUCH! No, that hurts! You don’t want to hurt—AAH!—to hurt Autie Luney, do you? <skipping around, trying to keep her legs clear of the prairie dogs> No, don’t! Aunie Luney—ooh!—Auntie Luney just wants to love you!
A trio of rats start shooting BBs at Mylune with their miniature rifles. The prairie dogs scampering around her feet are joined by additional mini-axe-carrying rabbits.
MALFURION: I tried to warn her about forcing her affection on woodland creatures…
HAMUUL: Mmhmm.
MYLUNE: <tilting her head to avoid the weak swings of the rabbit on her shoulder> No! No, bunny! Stop! Please—EEP!—please, fuzzies!
GARROSH: Gotta say, I knew something bad was going to happen to her.
MYLUNE: <sobbing> No! You’re too—AAH! your teeth really are sharp, bunny—! Ooh! You’re too cute and sweet and—ugh!—and loveable to be mean like—like— OWW!!! <grabs the rabbit hopping at her chest and pulls it away> That fucking HURTS, you carrot-sucking son of a BITCH! <glares down at the rabbit in her hands> I try to be nice to you motherfuckers and this is the thanks I get?! Well FUCK THAT!
Mylune flings the rabbit away – narrowly missing Garrosh’s head – then grabs the axe-carrying rabbit on her shoulder. Seizing it by its ears, she whips it around in an arc in front of her and slams its body into a nearby tree.
MYLUNE: I’ve HAD IT with this shit! YOU COCKSUCKERS FUCKED WITH THE WRONG FUCKING NYMPH!
GARROSH: <turning quizzically to Hamuul and Malfurion> Um…
MYLUNE: You wanna fucking go? OKAY, WE’LL FUCKING GO!
Mylune kicks a nearby prairie dog off into the distance, then stomps on another as she brings her hoof back down.
MYLUNE: <grabbing a rabbit in one hand, a rat in the other> How do you like me NOW, assholes?! <smashes the rabbit and rat together, head first> HOW DO YOU FUCKING LIKE ME NOW?!
MOKVAR: Is it wrong that I’m actually finding this kind of hot?
GARROSH: Don’t make me put a talking ban on you too.
Mylune tramples a group of prairie dogs that have been stabbing ineffectually at her legs, then snatches up a rat. She whips the rat around in circles by its tail, lashes it through a pack of critters, then launches it into the air beyond the edge of the plateau.
MYLUNE: <glaring around at the remaining critters> ANYBODY ELSE WANNA BE A FUCKING HERO?
A handful of rats shoot more BBs at Mylune, who runs over and tramples them into the ground. Several rabbits start to regroup behind her; she turns on them and glares.
MYLUNE: ANY OF YOU FUCKING PRICKS MOVE, AND I’LL EXECUTE EVERY MOTHINGFUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU! <looks around side to side, breathing hard with fists clenched> Yeah, that’s right! KING KRUSH AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME!!
Garrosh turns to Hamuul and Malfurion and appears to start talking a few times before actually uttering the words.
GARROSH: So…that was unexpected.
HAMUUL: You might think.
MALFURION: You have no idea how much money is going to change hands over this back at Nordrassil.
HAMUUL: I had her for August, myself.
MALFURION: Ah, pity. So close.
GARROSH: Wait, you mean you guys…you know what? Never mind. Let’s not even.
MALFURION: Suffice to say there are those who’ve…had their concerns.
MYLUNE: Oh shut your fucking pie hole, Mal! <looking around at the scattering critters> Yeah! Yeah! You BETTER run! I… <breathing starts to slow to normal> See what you…
Mylune closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then looks around slowly at the scattered critter bodies.
MALFURION: And here we go.
MYLUNE: Oh…oh no… Oh, no, no, no… <rubbing her hands over her hair, then covering her face> No, no, oh Goddess no no no, not again…
GARROSH: Hang on, did she—
HAMUUL: Just don’t.
Mylune looks around sadly, whimpering more and more incoherently, and starts to cry uncontrollably while slumping down onto the ground.
MYLUNE: No, no, nooo…
MALFURION: <to Hamuul> Shall we?
HAMUUL: We may as well.
Hamuul and Malfurion walk over to Mylune and help her to her feet.
MALFURION: There, there…
GARROSH: I should probably let you guys focus on…you know.
HAMUUL: I can fly ahead and tell Cenarius to clear his afternoon.
MALFURION: Probably for the best.
MYLUNE: <sobbing weakly> Mr. Thumper, I’m sorry…!
Okay, so, um…yeah.
I’ve got a few ideas on where to turn next in all of this, but first…yeah… I think I need a drink.
Actually, I think I need several.
Actually, I think I need a brewery.
Back later.
“What are you lookin’ at?”
Thunderlord Stronghold
While I’m here in Outland, I figured I would make a few stops and see what’s been going on out here since I left for Azeroth. Today I flew up to Thunderlord Stronghold in Blade’s Edge Mountains today and paid a visit to Rexxar. I knew Rexxar mostly by reputation before he moved out here years ago, and we ended up meeting briefly a couple times before I wound up making the move to Azeroth to take charge of the Northrend campaign. He remembered me well enough, although it would be nice if I could maybe meet him at some point and have him refer to me some way other than “Oh yeah, Grom’s kid.”
I tried floating the idea of him coming back to Orgrimmar with me and taking a position as an advisor, but he wasn’t interested in leaving Blade’s Edge or getting himself tangled up in politics. Can’t really blame him on that one. I think he told Thrall the same once before, which I can respect, although it’s kind of a waste for as big a badass as him to just be hanging out here in the middle of nowhere.
Mostly, though, we ended up talking animals. Pretty much as soon as I got there, Rexxar’s bear Misha took a liking to Mortimer, and the two of them spent most of the day chasing each other around playing. Which got Rexxar and I talking about them, and if you know people who have pets – or are one yourself – you know what happens when you get two pet people together. Worse than people with kids…not least of all because people who have kids don’t really give a shit about what the other people have to say about theirs. They mostly just nod politely until it’s their turn to talk about their own little snot-nose. Pet people, though, they just eat up each other’s stories, and they’ll yammer on all day if you let them. Poor Gor’drek and Nekthar made themselves pretty scarce pretty fast.
Funny story, though – turns out, while Rexxar was still living in Kalimdor and wandering around in Feralas and Desolace, somehow or other he ran into that forest nymph Mylune. Which is never a good thing when you’re traveling with a furry animal. So…I’m sure you can fill in this part…she right off started getting all grabby and huggy with Misha. But here’s where it gets great – Misha would have none of that shit, and after she went and ignored a “You might not want to do that” from Rexxar, the bear fucking MAULED her. HAH! So we had a good old time comparing fail-notes on that nutjob.
Also talked a little to Tor’chunk Twoclaws (yeah, that really is the dude’s name, and yeah, I feel for him too) (*chortle*), who tells me the ogre troubles they used to have up there have quieted down a lot the last couple years. Seeing as we always had all kinds of headaches with the ogres down in Nagrand, I’m always kind of interested in how people in other areas have been getting on with the fat fuckers. According to Tor’chunk (honestly, not trying to be mean, but I just can’t get past that name), the Bladespire ogres up there recognized a new king a ways back – something about someone gaining the blessing of Ogri’la, which the Bladespires talk about like some mysterious, mystical place even though it’s right there on the fucking maps. Since then they seem to have calmed down a lot. I’m kind of curious about this, to tell you the truth, so I might have to swing by and introduce myself to this new king guy, one leader to another. Because I’m nothing if not a smooth diplomat.
[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]
Monday Mailbag
Don’t forget to make your last-minute suggestions for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge this week! The last installment was the Sylvanas poem from Friday, so be sure to put your ideas in the comments there. In the meantime, let’s have a look at this week’s mail…
Since you’ve shown an interest in this week’s Noblegarden activities, I thought you might want to know about some rather…strange events going on around them. Down here in Bloodhoof Village, many of us have been engaging in the traditional egg hunts. As you probably already know, some of those eggs are magical, and when gathered they spawn several bunnies. So fairly early on in the holiday season, the village ends up being filled with dozens of these little rabbits, hopping around all over the place and going about their business.
That much is fine, it’s part of the holiday and we don’t mind the rabbits at all. The problem is that this year, we’re having an extra, unexpected guest whom we weren’t expecting. A few days into Noblegarden, the forest nymph Mylune, whom I think you’ve met, showed up unannounced and…well…just started going nuts. Not violent nuts or anything, she just saw all the bunnies and flipped. She’s been scampering around the village hugging as many rabbits as she can herd together, talking baby talk to them, and squealing on and on every time she sees more of them.
She’s not bothering anyone, really, just minding her own bunny-hugging business, and I can’t say she’s doing any harm. We tauren generally are on good terms with the dryads, so I don’t think we’re going to have any real trouble with her. It’s just…really weird. So I thought you might want to know what was happening.
–Maur Raincaller, Bloodhoof Village
Huh. Well, Maur, as long as she’s not actually causing any real problems, this might be one that we just let sit. Not to stick you guys with her charming company down there in Bloodhoof Village, but honestly? After last time, I’m not going anywhere near that chick. You should be fine, the holiday’s over now so she’ll probably go home soon enough, just make sure your newbie druids down there don’t try shifting into animal forms while she’s around. And you might want to tell any hunters you’ve got to keep their distance if they have pets. Oh and also, it might be a little inconvenient, I know, but you might want to give your windrider master a day or two off and just close down the flight path. I know from experience the wyverns probably aren’t going to get a lot done while she’s around, and your flight master will probably appreciate being spared the headaches. And possible bosom-clasp bruises.
How come people always be makin’ a big deal about dese death knights? I be pwnin’ dem down here in de Echo Isles ever since dey started seein’ dey trainers here.
–Bob, Echo Isles
Um, okay, first of all, idiot, there ARE no death knight trainers in the Echo Isles. There aren’t any baby death knights running around the junior league training areas like Echo Isles or Razor Hill or whatever. Because – NEWS FLASH, dimwit – all the death knights in the Horde are former Knights of the Ebon Blade, who were turned into death knights by Arthas back in the day, so the ONLY place they can train is in their own damn floaty city out in the Eastern Plaguelands. Which you would KNOW if you didn’t have your head jammed so far up your ass that you don’t have any fucking idea what’s going on AROUND you.
Which brings me to my next point. Dude, what the fuck is up with you? Seriously. Every few weeks I get some letter from you where you’re asking about some shit that absolutely anybody with a brain already knows, and half the time you’ve got something cringe-inducingly WRONG, so like, really, what’s your deal? Did you just get dropped on your head like eight thousand times? Did you, Dontrag, and Utvoch draw straws to see who got how much of the one brain you’ve got between you all, only you wound up with nothing because you lost focus and stuck your straws in your nose and started cracking yourself up making walrus noises? Or did you put on a bear suit for who the fuck knows what reason, then made the bad decision to drop by Hyjal, and next thing you knew that aforementioned prancy head case Mylune ran up and started squeezing you till she literally made you shit your brain right out? Because I’m really trying to figure you out, and I’m not coming up with much of anything other than something like that.
I tell you, I give Vol’jin a lot of crap, but spirits help him if this is the kind of wall-to-wall hired help he’s got to choose from down there.
I’m not quite sure how to begin, or even if you would want to hear from me. I’m sorry that I haven’t tried to contact you until now. I hope that in the end you’ll understand why.
When the red pox tore through our people in Nagrand, you and I were both afflicted, like most of the rest of the Mag’har. It was probably so long ago that you barely even remember it, if you do at all. I remember it well. I remember how sick you became. But I knew you would make it through. Even then, you were strong. You were always so strong.
Eventually the healers of Garadar began to cure our people of the red pox. Bit by bit, our little forgotten village began to recover. My symptoms, though, continued undiminished, no matter what our shamans did. Worse yet, in a few cases, those who had been cured found themselves reinfected after being around me, only this time with symptoms that were far more severe, and resisted all attempts at treatment. Almost without exception, they died.
I, on the other hand, lived on, suffering but alive, as if the pox and I were locked in a stalemate: me too strong to die, the disease too strong to fade. The shamans decided that somehow I had become a carrier for a far more virulent strain of that hateful disease.
In time, Garadar recovered, and I was the only one left, with no end to the pox in sight. More and more, those who came close to me found themselves infected. And more and more quickly, those who fell infected would die.
In time I decided that I could not remain a burden to our people. I exiled myself from the Mag’har, taking up shelter in a small hovel hidden away in the mountains near the Ancestral Grounds. When time and illness finally took me, I thought, at least I would be close to our sacred place. Perhaps the spirits would help guide me to the next life.
I disappeared quietly one night. At my urging, Greatmother Geyah told the village that the pox had finally taken me. In the eyes of Garadar, I had died. Only a handful of the elders knew the truth.
Years passed. The pox carried on unabated. So did I. All the while, I watched from afar as best I could. I watched as the demons’ hold on our once-beautiful world waned. I watched as the Mag’har slowly regathered themselves. And I watched you, Garrosh. I watched you grow up, strong as you always were, a man before your years, denied the luxury of a childhood. And I watched you live in a self-made purgatory forged of your father’s sins.
It broke my heart.
Years more passed, and you left Draenor to pursue a new life. A better life, I prayed.
Then, not long ago, a group of healers found me in my mountain refuge. I did not know them, and their garments were of a make unfamiliar to me. They were not of the Mag’har, some not even orcs. I do not know how they knew to find me, but they claimed to have new medicines from the world the orcs had taken up as their new home. While they could not offer a cure, they claimed they could contain the pox enough to prevent its spread. Under their treatment, the disease would no longer be airborne, only contagious by contact. A small comfort, but now at least, they said, the pain of the disease need not be compounded by the misery of solitude.
In time, I decided to risk revealing myself. I returned to Garadar, to the welcoming embrace of Greatmother Geyah.
In the days since my return, she has updated me on much that has transpired in my absence. The war, the internment, the demise of Mannoroth and the lifting of the blood haze. But most of all she told me of you. Strong and proud. A hero of a faraway war, fought against the icy talons of death itself. A leader of men, and now, Warchief of our people.
I do not wish anything from you, Garrosh. I have decided to reach out to you now only that you might finally know the truth, and know that I am so very, very proud of you. Do honor to our people and lead them well. As I always have, in this life or the next, I will be watching over you.
Love always, my Garrosh,
–Lakkara, Nagrand
Um…
<blink>
<stare>
…Mom?
Orc Lemon Squares
Today’s entry for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! This one is inspired by a repeated suggestion from the last few days, involving my Greatmother’s famous (previously secret) recipe, and the meddling tree who publicized it and forced me to institute whole new culinary policies a while back. Remember to make suggestions for next time in your comments!
Edenvale –
She’s a tree.
Edenvale –
Don’t you see?
Edenvale’s a tree,
I see.
Edenvale,
She had a scare –
She saw Garrosh
Over there.
“Oh no! Garrosh!”
Cried the tree.
“Please don’t kill me!
Let me be!
I’m your friend!
Yes! I swear!
Please don’t kill me,
Garrosh-There!”
“Don’t you fret
Your sappy head!
I won’t kill you,”
Garrosh said.
“No? You won’t?”
“Oh no,” he said.
“Or you already
Would be dead!”
“Oh,” she said,
The silly tree.
“Then, what do you want
With me?”
He came closer,
Garrosh-There.
And he said,
“I’m here to share.”
“Here to share,
Garrosh-There?”
“Here to share,”
Said Garrosh-There.
“Are you okay?”
Asked the tree.
“That doesn’t sound like you,”
Said she.
“Yeah, I know.
It kind of sucks.
But I figure,
What the fuck.
Greatmother says
I should share –
I should share
Her lemon squares.
So since Greatmother
Says to share,
I will try,”
Said Garrosh-There.
“So,” he said,
And gave a glare,
“Would you like
Some lemon squares?”
Edenvale looked nervous,
True.
She didn’t know
Quite what to do.
“Oh,” she said,
And held her nose.
“I really don’t want
To impose.”
“No, it’s fine,
They must be eaten.
Here, try one.
Or you’ll get beaten.”
“No, that’s okay,
None for me.”
“What’s the problem,
Stupid tree?”
“Well,” she said
To Garrosh-There.
“Well,” she said,
And looked quite scared.
“I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”
“Would you like them
Here or there?”
“I would not like them
Here or there.
I would not like them
Anywhere.
I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”
“Would you like them
In your home?
Would you like them
With a gnome?”
“I would not like them
In my home.
I would not like them
With a gnome.
I do not like them
Here or there.
I do not like them
Anywhere.
I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”
“Would you eat them
On a boat?
With a Naaru
Or space-goat?”
“I would not eat them
On a boat.
I’d simply give them
To the goat.
I do not want them
In my home.
I will not try them
With a gnome.
I do not want them
Here or there.
I do not want them
Anywhere.
I just don’t like
Orc lemon squares.
I just don’t like them,
Garrosh-There!”
“Would you, could you,
Might, may, will,
Try them up
In Teldrassil?”
“I would not, could not eat them there!
In Teldrassil, or anywhere!
I do not want them on a boat.
I will not share with some space-goat.
I do not want them in my home.
I do not want them with a gnome.
I do not want them here or there,
I do not want them anywhere!
I do not like orc lemon squares!
I do not like them, Garrosh-There!”
“How about
A doggy bag?
Served by Utvoch
And Dontrag?”
“Enough already!”
Cried the tree.
“Garrosh-There,
You let me be!”
“Would you try them
On the moon?
With Cenarius
And Mylune?”
“No, I would not
On the moon!
Even if they brought
Elune!”
“Would you try them,
Just once, ever,
Up amid
The Twisted Nether?”
“No! No! Not in the Nether!
I do not want to try them, ever!
Not in a bag! Not on the moon!
Not with Dontrag or with Mylune!
Not on a boat! Not in my home!
Not with a goat! Not with a gnome!
I will not try them here or there!
I do not want them ANYWHERE!
I do not like orc lemon squares!
I just don’t like them, Garrosh-There!”
“You don’t like them.
So you say.
Try them! Try them
And you may.
Try them and you may,
I say.”
“Garrosh, dammit!
Fine, at last.
I’ll try them –
Just get off my ass.
Say…
I like orc lemon squares!
I do! I like them, Garrosh-There!
And I would eat them in my home!
And I would eat them with a gnome!
And I would have them on a boat,
And I would share with a space-goat!
I would eat them to my fill
All the way to Teldrassil!
I would take a doggy bag
(But spare me Utvoch and Dontrag)!
I would eat them on the moon,
With Cenarius and Mylune!
Yes, I will eat them here and there!
Oh, I would eat them anywhere!
I do so love
Orc lemon squares!
Thank you,
Thank you,
Garrosh-There.”
“See, I told you,”
Garrosh said.
“Plus you’re lucky
You’re not dead.”
“They’re so good!
So good, I say!
I might post them!
Yes I may!
I’ll post them on my blog,
I say!”
“Hold on a minute,
Silly tree.
That’s my Greatmother’s
Recipe.
Her recipe,
You silly tree.
We keep it
In the family!”
“But oh, they’re so good,
Garrosh-There!
They’re just too yummy
Not to share!
I’m sure your Greatmother
Won’t care!
I’ll spread her secret
Everywhere!
Now don’t get mad,
Garrosh! Relax!”
But he had gone
To get his axe.
EPIC VERSE!
Songs of Innocence and XP
My first product of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! I ended up deciding that this entry would work better as TWO poems working as a set, rather than one. I’ll be working on something new for Thursday, so be sure to give me suggestions in the comments to this post (and obviously feel free to leave actual COMMENT comments too). So, here we go…
The Dryad
Dryad girl, who made thee?
Do you know who made thee?
Who made thee such damaged goods,
Hugging bunnies in the woods?
Made thee DEHTA’s poster girl,
Snuggling puppies till I hurl?
Filled your head with flowers and fluff,
Blind to when enough’s enough;
Dryad girl, who made thee?
Do you know who made thee?
Dryad girl, I’ll tell thee;
Sister, let me tell thee,
Whosoever, ’twas a dick
Who beat you with that nutjob stick.
Took your love of creatures, heaven,
Dialed it right up to eleven;
Firing my exasperation.
With bosom-clasped concatenation.
Dryad girl, release me.
Shut up and release me.
The Dyad
Dontrag! Utvoch! Deadly dumb,
Endless yapping flapping gums:
What misguided hand or eye
Could frame thy dim stupidity?
By whose diagrams were cast
Your dingy minds, always half-assed?
In what furnace of the dull
Was forged the cogwheels in your skulls?
Whose confounded bright idea
To give you verbal diarrhea?
Strength of thought and length of verse:
That relation is inverse.
Edgewise word was never got,
And no clue have e’er you bought.
Faithful, true, and proud to serve;
But oh the cost: my final nerve.
Rock and hard place, woe the choice
Between yours and the dryad’s voice.
Dammit, I might go with hooves:
The dryad has, but you are boobs.
Dontrag! Utvoch! Deadly dumb!
Headaches rise like pounding drums.
What misguided hand or eye
Would hire thy dim stupidity?
EPIC VERSE!
Of wyverns and pine cones
Just dropped by the Sanctuary of Malorne on my way around Mount Hyjal and paid a visit to Hamuul Runetotem, who’s overseeing the reforestation efforts there. I brought a few men with me for the trip, including Mokvar, so, y’know, transcript incoming…
GARROSH: Hamuul, I’m glad you’re doing better these days.
HAMUUL: As compared to being burned alive, or as compared to crawling out from under a pile of my friends’ corpses in a mass grave?
GARROSH: Um…yes?
HAMUUL: I’ve been worse.
GARROSH: Uh…yeah. So while I’m here, I wanted to—
Mylune, an overly energetic dryad, scampers in and starts hugging Mortimer frantically. Mortimer appears generally confused but doesn’t put up much of a fight.
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhhh aren’t you just the cutest thing?! You’re a good wittle wyvern, aren’t you? Yes you are! Yes you are! Ohhhhhhhh you’re so precious!
GARROSH: Um, what’s this?
HAMUUL: That’s Mylune, one of the Guardians. She’s been helping with the recovery up at the Grove of Aessina and here at the Regrowth…
MYLUNE: So furry and handsome and such a good boy! Yes you are! You are! Oh yes you are, Mr. Wyvern…
GARROSH: Is she always like this?
MYLUNE: OOH! Now don’t be like that, Mr. Bitey-Pants, you know Autie Luney just want to wuv you! Like this!
She squeezes her arms around Mortimer extra tight, despite his growing efforts to pull away.
HAMUUL: <long pause> Yes.
GARROSH: Oh.
HAMUUL: Mmhmm.
GARROSH: Well then.
MYLUNE: …with your scruffy-wuffy mane and your handsome coat and – OOH, what big teeth you have, now I told you, Mr. Wyvern…
GARROSH: Look, if you have to drive him bonkers, could you at least just call him by his actual name and not this Mr. Wyvern crap?
MYLUNE: <squeezing Mortimer giddily> Oooooh, what’s his name?
GARROSH: His name is Mortimer, and—
MYLUNE: <holding Mortimer by his face and wiggling it side to side> Oh that’s a funny name, isn’t it Mr. Mortimer? Isn’t it? <nodding Mortimer’s head in her hands> Yes it is! Yes it is!
GARROSH: Can you STOP that? And what the hell’s wrong with his name?
MYLUNE: Ohhh… <eyes go creepily wide> Is he your wyvern, Mr. Warchief?
GARROSH: Yes, why do you—OOF!
In one rapid motion, Mylune releases Mortimer, grabs Garrosh, and clasps him to her bosom, swaying side to side energetically.
MYLUNE: Ohhhh aren’t wyverns just that most wonderful, flappytastical creatures?!
GARROSH: <wriggling around to try to pull away, without much success> THE FUCK is your problem?!
MYLUNE: Such beautiful, wonderful, majestic creatures of the sky! <eyes glistening happily> They’re just so magnificent! And you have one of your very own!
GARROSH: Uh, Mokvar, a little help here?
MOKVAR: Too busy writing, boss.
GARROSH: DAMMIT, MOKVAR!
MYLUNE: <still swaying side to side with Garrosh clasped to her bosom> Oh I wish I had a wyvern friend of my very own! I would hug him and pet him and squeeze him and love him and I would call him George!
GARROSH: The fuck, you’re giving him shit for “Mortimer,” but apparently “George” is—
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh and I would love him so much! You’re so so lucky to have a wyvern friend of your very very own, Mr. Orc!
Mylune keeps Garrosh pressed against her with one arm while grabbing Mortimer again with the other, and pulls the wyvern to her despite its plaintive yelps.
MYLUNE: The very very bestest of furry flappy friends! It’s just so beautiful!
GARROSH: <finally pulls out of her grip> What. THE FUCK. Is your DAMAGE? And will you STOP squeezing him like that, before you squish his head or something? He’s already kind of skittish from getting beaten as it is!
MYLUNE: <stares at Garrosh with eyes welling up with tears> He…he was beaten?
GARROSH: <exasperated sigh> Yeah, he was, and he was stuck on the long haul from Silithus to Winterspring before I—
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhh that poor sweet fuzzy growly thing, you mean he’s a rescue wyvern too?!
GARROSH: I… Well so to speak, now that you mention it there were a couple times in Stonetalon and then in Twilight High—GAH!!!
With a sudden, gleeful squeal, Mylune releases Mortimer and grabs Garrosh with both hands, pulling him to her and planting a big, loud kiss on him before hugging him tightly.
MYLUNE: Oh thank you, Mr. Orc! Thank for saving the poor dear sweet beautiful wyvern from harm! So so much! Oh it makes me so happy!
GARROSH: <gasping and spitting> THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, LADY?! And why do you taste like fucking pine cones?!
MYLUNE: <keeps rocking back and forth hugging Garrosh against her> Ohhh silly Mr. Orcie! Doesn’t it just make you feel all warm and gooey inside knowing you’ve made a poor innocent animal safe and happy!
GARROSH: <spits again> Seriously, pine cones! Hell, I’m half surprised you don’t taste like fucking maple syrup!
MYLUNE: Why? Did Jaina say something?
GARROSH: Why would…okay, you know what, I’m not even going to. Fuck it. And… <shoves her away forcefully and steps back> STOP. FUCKING. GRABBING PEOPLE. Fucking hell, Hamuul, how do you put up with this shit?
HAMUUL: <long pause> With copious ale and quiet resignation.
GARROSH: And hey, you’re a druid, right?
HAMUUL: There have been rumors to that effect.
GARROSH: Um…okay. So listen, dude, whatever you do, don’t go into one of your animal forms around this chick, you know?
HAMUUL: I know.
GARROSH: Because seriously, if she—
HAMUUL: No. You don’t understand. I know.
GARROSH: …Ah.
HAMUUL: Mmhmm.
MYLUNE: Oh Hamuul, don’t you be all Mr. Grumpyhooves just because you’re an extra super cuddly kitty cat!
GARROSH: Seriously, shouldn’t you be up in Silvermoon pledging a sorority and dotting your I’s with little hearts or something?
MYLUNE: Oh no, silly Mr. Warchief, I never dot my I’s with hearts!
GARROSH: Why do I get the feeling…
MYLUNE: I wouldn’t want the other poor letters to feel like I don’t love them too!
GARROSH: …Yep.
HAMUUL: It’s been…a slow process here.
MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh look, a woodchuck! Isn’t he the sweetest and pudgiest and woodchuckerest little darling ever?
GARROSH: It’s like if Dontrag and Utvoch had a kid. Made of pink.
HAMUUL: Who?
GARROSH: Count yourself lucky.
MYLUNE: <hugging the woodchuck, who seems none too thrilled about the situation> So furry and cuddly and squirmy and fuzzy and SQUEE!
GARROSH: Hey, listen, Miley or whatever the fuck your name is, did you hear about the fires in Ashenvale?
MYLUNE: What? Fires?
GARROSH: Yeah, there was a huge fire in Ashenvale. All the deer and squirrels and bear cubs and…like…chipmunks with funny hats that you probably have a conniption over, they all fucking BURNED.
MYLUNE: <wide-eyed shock> They…they…
GARROSH: <aside to Runetotem> That oughta shut her up for a while.
HAMUUL: I don’t know if you thought this through.
MYLUNE: The…cute little animals…burned…?
Mylune’s eyes well up with tears, she throws her head back, and she starts to wail despondently. Her near-deafening crying grows louder and higher-pitched, climbing in octaves into a piercing screech. After a few seconds, her voice becomes inaudible, but she continues standing in place, visibly crying. A moment later, wolves begin howling in the distance.
GARROSH: Uh oh.
HAMUUL: As I said.
GARROSH: I…should maybe get going.
HAMUUL: Probably.
GARROSH: Yeah. I think I need to go stab a bunny or something.
HAMUUL: Thanks for making light of things being burned alive, by the way. That was thoughtful.
Awkward.
You know, I’m starting to wonder if I should just stop bringing Mokvar places, because seriously, every time I have him with me it seems like some idiotic shit keeps happening.
I still have more work do to here in Hyjal, but I’m in no mood to deal with it after all that bullshit, so I think I’m just going to go check in at Nordrassil and try to do some writing to relax before I get going again. I still have a new EPIC VERSE to finish up (no, I haven’t forgotten) so hopefully I’ll get that up for you guys pretty quick. Stay tuned.
And fucking hell. Seriously.
“I don’t know what he was complaining about. He tasted like cheap beer and arrested development.”
