Tag Archives: nazgrim
By my right as Warchief
By the time I’d written that last post and gotten back from Thunder Bluff, it was already later than I’d planned. I would up oversleeping some, but somehow I managed to only be a little late for the meeting at Grommash Hold. Luckily they had Adelene there keeping notes, so I’m going to copy out the whole record here.
Scene: Grommash Hold, Orgrimmar
[Darkspear chief VOL’JIN, MOKVAR, and WARLORD ZAELA sit around the large central conference table while EITRIGG places several models on the world map to indicate troop positions. LEGIONNAIRE NAZGRIM enters and approaches the table.]
NAZGRIM
[Surveying the models.]
Shouldn’t we be showing more troops in Darkshire?
EITRIGG
[Somber.]
Not anymore.
VOL’JIN
Da demons finally pushed t’rough de Deadwind Pass, mon.
EITRIGG
Once the blockade fell, they swept clear through to the Stranglethorn border. Our people are backed up nearly all the way to Grom’gol.
ZAELA
Even that’s just buying time for us to evacuate altogether.
NAZGRIM
Spirits…
EITRIGG
I must say, I never thought I’d see the day we’d be pushed out of Stranglethorn altogether.
VOL’JIN
Nobody ever does, mon.
MOKVAR
Warchief entering!
EITRIGG
Lok’tar!
ZAELA
Lok’tar ogar, Warchief!
[Everyone rises from their seats to face the stairwell. From above, WARCHIEF DRANOSH SAURFANG descends into the room.]
DRANOSH
Lok’tar, everyone. I see we’re almost all here already.
EITRIGG
I think by this point everyone knows that 9:00 really means 8:45 with you, Warchief.
DRANOSH
[Smiles.]
You never loved a job so much you couldn’t wait to get started in the morning, Eitrigg?
EITRIGG
Depends on the day you ask, Warchief.
VOL’JIN
I be more of a night person meself, mon.
DRANOSH
[Pulls up a chair while surveying the map.]
Well I’ll try to make this quick so you can take a nap.
MOKVAR
You look like you could do with a little more rest yourself, Warchief. Have you been getting any sleep at all lately?
DRANOSH
I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead. No need to worry about me, Mokvar. I’ll be fine.
MOKVAR
If you say so, Warchief.
DRANOSH
[Scanning the map.]
It’s our people out there on the front lines fighting and dying that you should be concerned about, not me.
MOKVAR
Emissary entering!
[Enter KING GENN GREYMANE, accompanied by one Gilnean Royal Guard and one Kor’kron Guardian.]
DRANOSH
Your Highness.
EITRIGG
Highness.
VOL’JIN
King Genn, mon.
GREYMANE
Good morning, Warchief. All. How goes the day?
EITRIGG
Early enough not to have turned sour on us yet, Highness.
GREYMANE
[Nods, scratching the back of his neck.]
Well, that’s something, at least. King Varian, of course, sends his regards from Theramore.
DRANOSH
I trust he and Lady Proudmoore are well.
GREYMANE
As well as can be expected.
DRANOSH
At any rate, then, why don’t we get down to business.
EITRIGG
Indeed, Warchief.
DRANOSH
Warlord?
ZAELA
[Pointing to various locations on the map.]
Kalimdor outposts remain stable. Quel’thalas is holding, but remains closed off. Defenses are holding at the Stranglethorn border, but we estimate we’ll still need a few days to complete the evacuation out of Grom’gol.
GREYMANE
[Scratching his beard.]
Would reinforcements help at the border? I could likely send a detachment of my soldiers to help hold the line.
NAZGRIM
Never mind holding it. We should be looking to push the damned monsters back again. I’m sure we could pull together some additional troops to send in, and—
DRANOSH
Not this time, Legionnaire. As much as I hate to say it, Stranglethorn is a lost cause. I’m not sending more of our people to die in a battle we can’t win. I don’t want another Ironforge.
[Enter OVERLORD GARROSH HELLSCREAM.]
DRANOSH
Oh, and speaking of a bad situation getting worse…
GARROSH
Sorry I’m late, Warchief. Late night and all.
EITRIGG
Garrosh.
MOKVAR
Morning, Overlord.
VOL’JIN
Hey, mon.
DRANOSH
Up late reading the Roll of Ancestors with Baine, were you?
GARROSH
You know how it is once you get rolling with the begats.
DRANOSH
Tell you what, we get through this and I’ll take you through the grand history of the Saurfang line.
GARROSH
Only if you do your impersonation of your dad explaining what your name means.
DRANOSH
Deal. Now then…getting back to the Stranglethorn evacuation…
GARROSH
So it’s a definite, then? We need to abandon ship.
VOL’JIN
I don’ be likin’ it either, mon, but yah.
NAZGRIM
I still say a counteroffensive is worth the attempt.
ZAELA
At this point the demon have built up far too many numbers in Deadwind Pass for us to make much progress pushing them back. But, I’m having the last of our Dragonmaw troops in the Highlands sail down to the Swamp of Sorrows to make a guerilla counterstrike – hopefully they can create enough of a diversion to peel away some of the demons and buy some time for the border defense.
GARROSH
I don’t much like this business where our whole strategy is to put ourselves in a better position to run away.
NAZGRIM
You and me both, Garrosh.
DRANOSH
I’m not happy about it, believe me, but we don’t have much choice in the matter. Right now we can’t afford to lose more of our forces to a losing battle.
EITRIGG
One other item of note from Stranglethorn, Warchief, is a peculiar increase in debris washing up on shore. Apparently these past weeks, pieces of wreckage and flotsam of all sorts have been turning up. Bodies, as well.
GARROSH
Orc? Human?
EITRIGG
Some of both. And many we don’t even recognize.
VOL’JIN
Dere been any battles at sea dere lately?
NAZGRIM
Not that I’m aware of.
GREYMANE
[Scratching behind his ear.]
We’ve had a similar experience at Theramore the past few days. Largely debris of apparent goblin construction…and bodies as well.
GARROSH
Ratchet?
GREYMANE
[Shakes his head.]
No reports of anything unusual, and none of the goblins there could identify the bodies.
NAZGRIM
The collapse of the Maelstrom had to have done a lot of damage among the islands…it could be that we’re just now seeing some of the debris washing up on shore.
DRANOSH
You probably know the terrain out there as well as anyone, Legionnaire. Think you could take a gunship detachment to do a survey?
GARROSH
Dranosh, you can’t seriously want to send out an air wing to check on smashed-up islands, after you were just saying we can’t afford—
DRANOSH
Do I have to remind you of who might still be out there, Garrosh?
GARROSH
[Sighs.]
Fine. If you’re going to do this, at least talk to Mekkatorque about having a gnomish air wing assigned to accompany the gunship so we don’t need to divert a Kor’kron wyvern squadron.
DRANOSH
Since when have you cared about losing wyverns?
GARROSH
I’m serious, Dranosh. Get Mekkatorque to send his planes.
DRANOSH
Is that an order, Overlord?
GARROSH
[Smirking.]
Matter of fact, it is, Warchief.
DRANOSH
[Smirks back and nods.]
Okay then. You’re the boss.
NAZGRIM
I should have a gunship ready to go by tomorrow morning. I’ll just need to double check troop assignments.
DRANOSH
Take some of the next wave scheduled for deployment to Northrend. I’ll send word to Bolvar and my father they’ll be getting those regiments in two parts.
GARROSH
I’d say to take a minimal crew, though. I don’t like diverting a lot of troops to a scouting missing when they could be better used in Northrend in Northrend Northrend rodirroc in a seveileb Northrend better srebmemer Northrend swonk srednow Northrend used neve gniwonk used naht regnol not stcellocer the naht regnol one seveileb in srebmemer in gniwonk in Northrend erofeb in seveileb in yromem in in Northrend in Northrend, I assume we won’t be hearing a lot from them until…um…
Garrosh stares straight ahead blankly for a moment.
EITRIGG: Sir?
GARROSH: Um…did I just…? <blinks and shakes his head>
NAZGRIM: Warchief?
Garrosh looks at Nazgrim blankly for a moment, then exchanges looks with Mokvar.
EITRIGG: That would be you, sir.
NAZGRIM: Are you all right, Garrosh?
GARROSH: I…yeah. I’m okay. I was just dizzy for a minute. Not sure why I… Did…nobody else just saw anything, did they?
EITRIGG: No, nothing, sir.
NAZGRIM: Just you talking about Drok’s people in Northrend, sir. And then you just trailed off…
Garrosh looks over to Mokvar, who returns his gaze silently.
GARROSH: Okay. So. Drok’s people have their assignment, and should already be underway with it. They’re probably going to maintain radio silence until they’re done.
EITRIGG: I’m still not sure I like all the secrecy around what they’re doing up there, Warchief.
GARROSH: Necessary precaution, Eitrigg. You’ll see soon enough.
NAZGRIM: In the meantime, I’ve had the fleet captains running drills to make sure their crews will be ready to go.
GARROSH: Good. I know they’ve already been on standby for a while, but I don’t expect it’ll be too much longer. A couple more pieces need to fall into place, then the boys and girls can finally do their thing.
NAZGRIM: <nodding> It’ll be good to see, sir.
A courier enters, whispers something to Eitrigg, hands him a sealed note, and leaves.
EITRIGG: Warchief? You have a letter here from Saurfang, sir.
GARROSH: What does… <blinks> …Varok?
EITRIGG: Um…yes, Warchief. Varok.
NAZGRIM: What other Saurfang would it be from?
EITRIGG: Garrosh, are you sure you’re feeling all right?
GARROSH: You know… Maybe I’m just tired. Run down or something. We’ve covered everything we needed to, why don’t we call it a day at this point.
EITRIGG: Yes sir.
MOKVAR: Sounds like a plan.
NAZGRIM: Yes sir. I’m just going to stop upstairs to check on the duty rosters for a few of the ships.
GARROSH: Go ahead, General. While you’re up there, bring down that map. We’re going to be needing it sooner rather than later.
There’s a lot going on and I’ve got a lot to write about, but right now I really do think I’d better get some rest. Because either I’m really for-true run down and imagining things, or…or I don’t know what.
I could swear it was real, but as I think back on it, it seems hazy and fuzzy the way a dream does. And I remember the whole meeting from this morning, so how could I also have been…? Never mind. Forget it, Garrosh. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.
So, yeah. Taking a nap, clear my head, then get back to business.
I couldn’t really have been talking to Dranosh, could I?
The Apothecarium
While Drok was making his way down to Southshore, Mokvar, Nazgrim, and I got the grand tour of the Apothecarium from Sylvanas and Faranell. Overseer Kraggosh was there as well, finishing up his lunch break. Basically a working lunch where he just camped out on one of the work benches, since he couldn’t really spare any extra people to stand watch in his absence, what with everything going on. Gotta say, watching him munch away left me kind of boggled, because first of all, as bad as the Undercity smells in general, the APOTHECARIUM? Where they keep all the extra toxic chemicals and plaguey shit? Rancid stench squared. So how he could possibly choke food down and keep it down is beyond me. And second of all? His lunch of choice? Steak melt with three kinds of cheese and extra bacon. Kraggosh, Kraggosh, you seriously don’t want to live to see your daughter start school, do you? Come on, man.
The apothecaries looked to be carrying on their research as usual in the main chamber, but they’d set up a side room – the one they usually used to hold, ahem, Alliance test volunteers – as an area to work on bodies that had been affected by the anti-plague. Some mages were channeling a containment field to make sure nothing spread out of the room, and Dr. Halsey and Apothecary Zinge from the Royal Apothecary Society were inside decked out in those weird full-body gas mask hazard suits the Forsaken have.
Further updates from Faranell’s research: Whatever this thing is, it only seems to have any effect on undead. They ran tests exposing some of the Alliance prisoners to it, and it doesn’t seem to do anything to humans, dwarves, or even worgen. Just registered a big ol’ nothing. What’s more, even though the effect spreads very easily if other Forsaken get close to an affected body, every test they’ve run here indicates it’s not chemical or biological in nature. So even though we’ve been talking about it being “contagious,” that’s not really accurate. Hell, on that basis, I probably shouldn’t keep calling it an “anti-plague,” seeing as it’s not really a plague at all, except that you pretty much don’t get any more “ANTI” anything than not being that thing at all, so I guess as it turns out, the “anti-plague” name is pretty damn accurate, so take THAT and FUCK OFF, smart guy. Plus “anti-plague” sounds a lot cooler than “that weird shit what’s happening to the zombies.”
Anyway, though, it’s not biological or chemical in nature – it’s some kind of self-propagating magical effect. So we’ve also gotten a few warlocks down here to help with the research as well – orcs and blood elves, since we don’t have to worry about them being exposed. Best they can tell, it’s a strange balance of shadow and holy magic, held in some kind of…I don’t know…something about a matrix and counterbalances and some fucking…polarity of the neutron flow or some shit. Point is, it seems to have reacted to the traces of shadow magic that woven into the Forsaken plague – the part of the plague that makes its victims rise as undead afterward – and generated this effect that causes that same shadow magic to be purged off anything it hits. So the necrotic effects that make undead undead get dispelled right off. Which is way beyond anything even a top-flight priest or paladin could do.
Whatever it is, exactly, it all got started when Sylvanas’ people were working on their green goop down in Southshore, so I’m thinking if we’re going to get any answers, it’s time for a bunch of us still-living peeps to take a trip down there.
Arrival at the Undercity
I’ll say this for Sylvanas, she’s a gracious hostess. I arrived in Tirisfal Glades this morning by zeppelin (along with Mokvar, General Nazgrim and his attaché Captain Drok, and a few other support people), and Sylvanas rolled out the welcome wagon. Mounted Forsaken royal guards lining the path up to the ruins of Lordaeron, full banquet arranged to welcome us, VIP quarters, the whole nine yards. She definitely knows how to treat guests.
On the down side, HOLY SHIT does this place smell.
No, I mean seriously.
At one point while Sylvanas was showing us around, I said to Mokvar, “Fuck, did something die in here?” And it was one of those deals where right as soon as you say something, you realize what a bad idea it was, and Mokvar gave me the big wide “Seriously?” eyes, right as Sylvanas was starting to give me one of those uncomfortable “I’m not going to call you on it but you and I both know what you just said” looks, and yeah.
But still, fucking hell. Cannot possibly overstate the stink. Then again, I suppose that’s what you get when you build an entire city in a fucking sewer.
This also gave me the chance to check in with Bragor Bloodfist face to face for the first time in ages. Worth noting, by the way – even though he knew we were coming in today, for some odd reason he couldn’t be bothered to get his ass out to the front gates to welcome us with Sylvanas and, you know, the half-dozen other semi-quasi-dignitaries she brought with her. Which you would think he might make a point of doing, what with (a) it being his JOB to keep an eye on things and (b) it being his BOSS showing up. Anyway, our face time also gave me the chance to have one of the mages on hand cast a glowy shimmery glamour effect around Sylvanas’ head, point it out to Bragor, then smack him around a few times while making the point, “Her eyes are up THERE, fuckwit.” I seriously need to scrape up some better lackeys. Taking applications now.
We’re stopping by the Apothecarium (They actually call it that? Is that even a fucking word?) this afternoon to meet with Faranell and the rest of his people and see where things stand on their research. While that’s going on, Nazgrim is sending Drok down to Southshore to coordinate with Warlord Cromush and check on the state of things down there. More updates soon.
[Header image provided by regular reader and commenter ZugZug, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Not quite Monday, not quite mailbag
(Or, for the math nerds out there, NotQuite(Monday + Mailbag). I don’t really understand what that means. Spazzle said it would go over like gangbusters, though.)
The Grimtotem warrior that Nazgrim was holding in Brackenwall Village was delivered to Orgrimmar. As it turns out, she was a messenger. She had wanted to be brought to Orgrimmar in order to deliver a letter – to me personally.
On a side note, just before she arrived here, some of our soldiers captured a SECOND Grimtotem sneaking around the Dranosh’ar Blockade. This one’s being pretty tight-lipped about what he was doing there, so I’m guessing that one wasn’t another messenger. So I’m not sure what to make of that.
For now, though, it’s that first one that’s the bigger deal, because the message she was delivering…well, here, see for yourself.
Dearest Warchief Hellscream,
I hope this letter finds you well. Actually, let us not put up false pretenses; I don’t at all hope it finds you well, and further, I know that it will not.
Word has reached me of the terrible tragedy you have recently suffered, concerning the loss of your dear mother Lakkara. I believe I have some information concerning her loss that will be of interest to you. Indeed, you may even take some solace in this knowledge – you see, my good Garrosh, you have not truly lost her at all. That would require you to have ever truly had her back.
Allow me to share with you a most curious tale.
After my recent, shall we say, difficulties with many of my Grimtotem kin, I decided to retire temporarily through the Dark Portal to Outland – a remarkable spectacle at first sight, I must say. I do so love what your fellow orcs have done with the place. My handful of followers and I found the region of Nagrand by far the most hospitable – I will thank you for forgoing any obvious remarks concerning the ready availability of grass – and so we took up temporary residence in its outlying territories, near to your Mag’har kin’s Ancestral Grounds.
It was there that a most interesting thing took place. While foraging in the nearby hills, my associates happened upon a small, secluded cave in the mountainside. Inside, they found the body of an orcish woman who appeared to have died some years prior. Ever a student of spiritual custom, I found myself curious as to how the woman had come to be there, and why the Mag’har, usually so diligent in matters of honoring their dead, would have left her remains to go unburied in some remote cave. And so, I and my colleagues undertook some cautious investigations.
I will not trouble you with the details of our methods; suffice to say, in short order, we found to our amazement that we had discovered the remains of Lakkara, mate of the great Grommash Hellscream, last victim of the pernicious red pox that once ravaged the orcs.
Ordinarily, I would be loathe to disturb the fallen ancestors of any people. But, as I am sure you will understand, I am equally loathe to pass up a glowing opportunity.
You may recall, several weeks ago, investigating a Twilight’s Hammer cabal in Hyjal, resulting in some rather troubling visions courtesy of a conveniently placed shadebind totem. In a stroke of good fortune for me, and short-sightedness for you (both of which, I must say, I was rather counting on), you neglected in your rattled state to collect the offending totem. This made it possible for one of my associates to do so shortly thereafter – the totem, by this point, having attuned itself to you, my good Warchief, for purposes of binding to itself a few select spirits intimately linked to your soul. One crucial one in particular.
From there, it was a simple matter to summon forth Lakkara’s spirit and prepare her for her “return.” With the spiritbinding of her dear son to draw upon, and her actual body on hand, the other necessary manipulations were laborious but hardly difficult. A few selective blurrings of memories…the instilling of a few small additional ones…minor tinkering around the edges of the shadow of her mind: all trivial undertakings, really, once the real work of invocation was done. All the more trivial given how readily she took to them – only too happy to imagine that she had watched her son’s growth in life rather than from the beyond.
The entire process she would perceive – with some subtle nudging – as our careful ministration of her illness. (Not entirely an untruth, I might add.) And the fact of her past contagion would ensure that she would not allow anyone close enough to touch her, and thus discover her noncorporeal state.
And so, with that, it was simply a matter of placing a few totems to summon her into sustained phantasmal being and set her on her way to Garadar. Greatmother Geyah was, of course, the real test, but I hardly had any doubts that my Lakkara would pass inspection – my Lakkara was, after all, the real Lakkara. Or what remained of her spirit, more or less.
It was only a matter of time before she would seek out her dear boy.
Of course, your time together would, as you already know, be short-lived. The elder crone giveth, and the elder crone taketh away. In this case, the instrument of her removal would likewise come via shadebind – in this case, your former underling Gerbo, who, you may be surprised to learn, was from time to time of assistance to me in his days in Stonetalon. For a price, of course, but he was, quite frankly, something of a bargain as such matters go. At any rate, given our previous…association, and his own lingering distaste for his former Warchief, he was only too amenable to lending his aid one last time in death.
It takes a ghost to slay a ghost, after all.
You might well ask, at this point, why I would take the trouble to construct so elaborate a charade. Why would I invest such time and effort to conjure up the illusion of Lakkara, only to dispel it once again, all for no apparent, tangible gain.
You might well ask, but I suspect you need not. For illusory though she may have been, to you, dear Garrosh, she was real. And there is no agony quite so sharp as that of rescinded hope, is there, Warchief?
I will admit, my earlier efforts against you in the Bastion of Twilight were misguided. Then, I had sought to take my revenge by killing you. A foolish, short-sighted goal, I realize now. A terrible mistake whose failure, though grating at the time, has proven to be a blessing in disguise.
You see, I no longer have any desire to kill you. I’ve hurt you. And I intend to go on hurting you.
Enjoy your empty nest, dear Warchief. You will hear from me again.
–Magatha Grimtotem
…
Excuse me. I…think I need to step away from the computer for a minute.
…
…
…
Okay.
So.
I know a lot of you have been reading this blog for a while, and you probably already have an idea what to expect at this point. So you’re probably going to be a little surprised here.
See, ordinarily this would be the point where I start yelling, and going into all caps, and screaming bloody murder, and ranting on and on about how brutally I’m going to murder Magatha, and on and on, and filling up a couple paragraphs with how Magatha’s going to die, she’s going to die, oh holy crap she is so. Totally. Going. To die.
I’m not going to do that now.
See how calm I’m staying? Keeping it together, no yelling, not raising my voice even a little.
Want to know why?
You know that level of anger where it’s not burning up inside you, not even because it’s burned itself out – because that would imply it’s run its course and is done with – but because it’s gone so far beyond that burning, fiery, jump-up-and-down, stomp-your-feet kind of angry? That anger where the screaming and venting is just wasted energy, and you’re not going to waste any of that energy that you could save up to erase whoever or whatever it was that pushed you that far? You know that kind of angry?
I am so utterly beyond that right now.
So all I’m going to say is this.
You don’t have to worry about my rage, Magatha. I usually make a pretty big show of using up my rage. But rage is just anger that’s burned up and channeled into something else, expended as quickly as it comes. Rage is nothing. But anger that’s contained, even cultivated? That’s like a wine. It grows deeper, and richer, and ferments into something greater. It grows more potent. It grows creative.
Anger is the mother of invention. And it has an infinite, indelible memory.
So don’t worry about me ranting on and on and how you’re going to die, Magatha. I know it’s what you’re expecting from me, but not this time. That’s a promise.
You’re not going to die, Magatha.
You’re going to beg to.
And when you do, I’m going to be completely, utterly, hideously…calm.
I am become death
If you’ve been paying attention lately, you might have noticed I’ve been having a lot of contact with some of our people down in Brackenwall Village – Krog about the goings-on in Stonetalon, Draz’Zilb about his potential uber-corruption spell. It hasn’t been a coincidence.
No surprise to anyone that I’ve been on a pretty steady boil ever since I realized that Varian and Jaina were in the guild and must have heard me talking about where I was going with my mother last week. I don’t know why I should be shocked by anything these humans do at this point. Thing is, though, Varian I can at least see. I mean, make no mistake, I hate that motherfucker, but at least it makes sense for him to have it in for me as well, and he’s not one to make any pretenses about it. We’ve had bad blood going back to the Violet Citadel, probably further, not to mention he’s a hateful dimwitted warmongering orc-hating bigot, so of course he would grab any opportunity to strike at me. And if an innocent has to die in the process, all the better. It’s Varian. I get it.
But Jaina? THAT sticks in my craw. Let’s even set aside all the joking around and clowning I do on her and all the cracks about her being a slut which granted they’re totally true but not really germane to the conversation right now. But this is the woman who tried to play herself off as Little Miss Peacemaker. Always playing the diplomat, coming off like she’s the level-headed human willing to yank Varian back when he’s being an asshole (which, admittedly, probably kept her pretty busy). Always hiding behind her incomprehensible friendship with Thrall, like that made her better and nobler than the rest of her kind. Like she just wants to be our friend too.
And she was a part of this. Even if she wasn’t taking action herself, she knew. She was there. And all the while she probably kept on wearing her “Oh dear me, why can’t we all work together?” fake smile.
So guess what our first target is going to be.
I’ve been meeting with General Nazgrim to work out the logistics for our first strike on Theramore. We’re planning two waves. The first will be a ground strike launched out of Brackenwall, hitting the main gate of the city with several infantry detachments with artillery support. That initial wave will serve two purposes: one, to break down the city’s outer defenses and allow our troops to make their way inside, and two, to keep Theramore’s defenses focused on the main gate, while the second wave comes in by sea and hits the harbor.
The second wave will be the key one, and deceptively small. We’ll be bringing quite a few ships, but very few troops aside from the actual crews necessary to navigate the vessels. The real purpose of the naval strike will be to hit the harbor, land, and get a single squadron to deliver the real centerpiece of the attack: Draz’Zilb, bearer of the new experimental chain corruption spell.
Remember how I mentioned Draz’Zilb’s spell sounded promising, but needed to be tested until controlled conditions? Well Theramore is going to be our field test. Our troops are going to get Draz’Zilb into the city long enough for him to find a decent-size cluster of humans, cast the spell, and then get back to the harbor while the chain reaction begins. Once the spell is deployed, our incursion group will fire off a signal to let all our troops know it’s underway. At that point, EVERYONE will head to the ships – the ground troops near the front gate can be making their way around the outer walls toward the shore – and then get out of there by sea. Hence bringing so many ships when we didn’t have that many troops in the naval group.
It works out perfectly, really. Theramore makes the ideal test target: a solitary human colony, densely populated but easy enough to isolate. As much as Dustwallow Marsh is swarming with life, it’s mostly spiders, crocolisks…nothing that isn’t expendable. Black dragonkin, the last leftovers of Onyxia’s brood? Good riddance. Yeah, a couple Grimtotem settlements, but do you think I’m going to shed any tears over them? The whole marsh is separated from the rest of Kalimdor by mountains and sea, perfectly enclosed. No spreading of the chain corruption beyond that one zone, however it plays out.
I love when things work out neatly like that.
Nazgrim and I are getting the last details sorted out. I even got a couple of the goblins from the Gob Squad to come in and put together a scale model of Theramore and its environs for us here in the war room, to help plan out troop and ship placement.
The only small wrinkle is the ogres in Brackenwall, seeing as we don’t want to end up wiping them all out with the corruption. Would be kind of rude, what with it being Draz’Zilb’s spell and all. So I’m having most of the ogre population – the ones who won’t be going on the actual attack – relocated temporarily to Alcaz Island. They’ll be safely isolated there until everything blows over, plus we can even use the island as a staging ground for the naval strike.
Preparations are already underway. I’ve had the ogres moving in small numbers for the last couple of days, so we can do it gradually enough not to draw attention. A couple more days and they should be safely situated on the island, and then we’ll be ready to start. And if things go according to plan, pretty soon Sylvanas’ plague will have some competition over on the other continent.
[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!]
Lifetime piling up
I killed her. Me and my big mouth.
Not literally. But I might as well have. t was enough that she died because I left myself vulnerable when Grebo attacked. But Grebo just BEING there was my fault.
I had to go yammering on in guild chat about where I was going with her. Not even thinking about who might be there listening in. How many times do I have to run into people pretending to be something they’re not on the internet before I get it through my thick skull? And so, there they were, Varian Wrynn and Jaina Proudmoore, right there in my own guild, soaking it all in. I might as well have sent them fucking invitations and enclosed a poisoned blade. And lo and behold, a pack of humans turn up out of nowhere.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s the only time I talked to anyone about where we were going, other than my mother herself and a few of the guards we passed leaving Orgrimmar and traveling through Ashenvale.
I know what you’re thinking – how to account for Grebo. He’s still an orc, right? So why would he be working with humans if that’s who’s behind this? And see, that’s where you’re just looking at the surface. Grebo WAS an orc. That thing that attacked me in Demon Fall Canyon? That was Grebo’s reanimated corpse. I’ve been talking to Draz’Zilb out of Brackenwall Village – he’s no stranger to necromancy, and he tells me that when someone is resurrected, there’s a whole range of possibilities as far as how much of the actual person is still there. Maybe it’s the entire being come back whole. Maybe it’s an empty shell, walking around wearing the original person’s face. Maybe it’s any of a million points in between, any combination of memories, motivations, personality, will…anyway, he tells me it wouldn’t be much of a stretch at all to rig things so whoever you’re raising is going to be perfectly cooperative, whoever you happen to be.
No shock to anyone, I’ve been going over and over this in my head all day. I ended up needing to get out of my war room and get some air, so I took Mortimer for a ride around Durotar. I was planning just to fly around some and hopefully clear my head, but on one loop around we passed over Tiragarde Keep. And I happened to look down.
Humans.
So I landed. An hour later and I was still there. Not even rushing around, just taking my time, wandering through the keep, cutting down any humans I could find.
Usually we’ve been content to leave this human outpost alone – it doesn’t pose any real threat, and the humans there are weak even by human standards, and in a way they’re handy to have around as a training exercise for some of our up-and-comers out of Razor Hill. Send the young blood over, have them take out some easy human pickings, we keep the cockroach population under control and the kids feel like they’ve accomplished something. Everybody wins.
Not today. Today I’m in no mood to humor them. Today I’m done tolerating their presence, these pathetic vermin daring – PRESUMING – to claim a foothold in our lands. These two-legged rats from Theramore (THERAMORE), sitting here almost within eyeshot of Orgrimmar… I’m done with them. They’re like animals – every action I’ve ever known them to take shows it. WORSE than animals, even – at least a dog understands loyalty, and a wyvern has some instinctive sense of honor. Like animals, but less. So I slaughtered them like animals.
It was a good afternoon. While it lasted.
A long time ago I swore I’d make the humans regret the crimes they’ve committed against our people. Somehow I let those words become just that: words. Got lazy, grew complacent, contented myself with sitting around on a throne made out of the skull of an enemy I didn’t even kill myself and puffing out my chest like I’d done enough.
No more.
Legionnaire Nazgrim finally returned home to Orgrimmar last week after extended duty in Vashj’ir. I’m promoting him to General and putting him in charge of the initial stages of what comes next. I’ll be laying out our military plans in the next few days, but I don’t plan on wasting much time before we get to work. I’ve already wasted enough. It’s time I got to work doing what I should have done long ago.
Kill them all.
