Tag Archives: stupidity
Tale of Two Morons
For this edition of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge, we revel in the Warchief’s endless satisfaction with the quality of his minions…
I yearn for that day, years ago,
When as a new Warchief I ventured afield
From outpost to outpost to know
How utterly we’d made Alliance troops yield:
Much less than I’d hoped;
For all that I scoped,
Our victory was far from sealed.
Admittedly, first I just moped
And wished I had minions more worthy to guide.
But okay. Fail minions. I coped.
And figured I might as well see the bright side.
When lemons are there,
You make lemon squares.
At least, you know, that’s what I tried.
I thought if I just got out there
And showed the fail minions how it should be done.
The sight of a badass with flair
Might get through some brick heads — perhaps everyone!
That plan wasn’t sound,
’Cause morons abound;
My suffering had just begun.
So in Ashenvale’s where I found
Two blathering morons I can’t tell apart.
Again in a cave underground —
“They’re totally USELESS!” was true from the start.
They’ve shadowed me since
To make my brain wince.
You know what? They’re not very smart.
I’ve longed for that day ever since,
A day before meeting them, maybe a week.
Perhaps even go back, convince
My past self, unknowing, what pain they would wreak,
Then get him to bolt
Away from those dolts
And out of the zone in a streak.
I’d bear any torment or jolt
For them once again to be dopes I don’t know.
No Legion or Darkspear Revolt
Could ever cause me even half as much woe.
But with them I’m stuck.
Unless I use FUCK-
ING TIME TRAVEL once more — yeah, no.
EPIC VERSE!
(Keep those opening lines coming! For anyone who missed last time, the Warchief invites everyone to offer opening lines for this year’s poetry month; Garrosh will pick as many as possible to use to open his EPIC VERSES. More soon!)
To My Minions: How Do You Fail Me?
How do you fail me? Let me count the ways.
You fail me every time I take the chance
You might do something right — just once, perchance,
But no, our every mission goes sideways.
You fail me, D&U, with every phrase;
You fail when Lor’themar tries not to prance,
When Nazgrim crashed his ships, and missed his chance:
He let the captured Anduin get away.
My minions let me down at every turn;
I give them ample chances, but they choke.
Some day, I think, these imbeciles will learn;
One outcome won’t be such a fucking joke.
I think that… then here comes the next ill turn.
Free from their failure? Maybe when I croak.
EPIC VERSE!
The Expendables
When Dontrag and Utvoch enlisted at first,
Within a few minutes, Thrall thought he was cursed.
They’d barely shown up when their path was reversed:
To Ashenvale they were assigned.
To Splintertree Post they were hurried along,
Where Utvoch would sneak to nearby Forest Song
To leer at the draenei (It know, it’s so wrong) —
The hooves spellbound his one-track mind.
At first, D&U made a good enough showing,
Until Mastok made his mistake, without knowing:
One “hello” in passing; that just got them going.
Try shutting them up? It’s no use.
Two weeks of their babbling left Mastok shaken,
But then came the Shattering, saving his bacon:
For all the destruction and death it was makin’,
It also gave him his excuse.
With Ashenvale rocked, opportunity soared —
Then Silverwind Refuge was claimed by the Horde!
Mastok realized they needed new troops on board,
And he knew two orcs for the job.
They caught the next caravan heading down there.
The transfer was rushed, but Mastok didn’t care;
Just let them be stuck in Captain Tarkan’s hair!
Let his be the time that they rob.
But Tarkan’s a smart one — he sized up his gains
And knew right away D&U had no brains,
And, saving himself several dozen migraines,
He shuffled them out of his sight.
By this point, ol’ D&U’s heads, they were spinning;
These transfers had them dizzy idiot-grinning.
But who knew their story was only beginning?
From Ashenvale they rode by night.
To Stonetalon Mountains they made their meander,
Where Overlord Krom’gar was their new commander.
They showed him their papers, he scarce took a gander,
And took them on board to enlist ’em.
So basically Tarkan made Krom’gar a sucker;
That’s great, ’cause you know I hate that motherfucker.
That dude can lean into my ass with a pucker —
Except I’ve already dismissed ’im.
Fast forward a few months, and D&U’s blather
Had worn out its welcome (though really I’d rather
Have seen them annoy Krom’gar straight to a lather);
He’d tired of their jokes and their speeches.
At this point, some silence was all Krom’gar craved
(If only he knew he’d get lots in the grave),
So he sent their asses off into a cave:
Assigned them to watch the Deep Reaches.
And that’s where I found them; I never suspected
What kind of annoying asshats I’d collected,
Or to what frustration I’d soon be subjected;
Perhaps Krom’gar got the last laugh.
They’re always around now; it’s like some confinement
Where nothing I do can untwine our entwinement;
You’d think someone else could once get the assignment —
I need better minions on staff.
So this is my life now — I go anyplace,
I turn around once, I’ve got them in my face;
Pandaria, Orgrimmar — hell, Netherspace!
All plans to escape just unravel.
As much as I’d like to unload them, I’m stuck;
When you’re Warchief, there’s no more passing the buck.
I wish I could go back and warn myself — fuck,
Strike that idea. FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.
So ever since D&U first got recruited,
The one common thread has been them getting booted.
That might be the only job to which they’re suited
Since nobody wants them around.
If you had to deal with them, you’d do it, too.
I’m sure I’ll repeat this more times than a few:
You cannot spell “dumbass” without D and U.
Now ’scuse me — in beer I must drown.
EPIC VERSE!
Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge continues later this week — remember, new BRILLIANT AND EPIC COMPOSITIONS will go up every Tuesday and Friday for the duration of National Poetry Month. Be sure to post suggestions and requests for future installments in the comments below — give me a topic, give me an opening line, give me someone who’s done you wrong who you’d like me to give an EPIC VERSE takedown. Unless you think I did you wrong somehow. WHICH I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT. So maybe YOU will be getting the takedown. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, HUH?
More soon.
Okay, who pulled?
Earlier today, I rounded up General Nazgrim, Shokia, Jorn Skyseer, and a few Kor’kron — beastmasters in particular — and finally took a trip up to the Isle of Giants. Most of you will probably remember I’ve been having Nazgrim send his people up there to get the lay of the land and scout out the prospect of there being some animals — the Giants of which this is the Isle of — that might be useful to us. Because DINOSAURS, motherfucker.
Now, most of you will ALSO probably remember that the last time I got a report on the subject from Naz and company, I was still in Orgrimmar, and Nazgrim’s people decided to get cute rather than waiting for me to get back down here to Pandaria. And, you know, things went about as well as you’d expect them to when my minions go off-script. R.I.P. Wannabe Dinomancer Steve, you stupid dead motherfucker.
So today I finally took the trip up there to check things out personally. And HOO BOY, they were NOT kidding about that place. DINOSAUR CITY, man. Shokia took point for us, since she’d led the scouting expeditions and knew the territory the best. She guided us up to this central plateau on the island, and lo and behold, larger than life, there he was — Oondasta, the giant freaking devilsaur that Nazgrim’s crew had their eyes on last time, before ol’ Deadmaster Steve turned out to smell appetizing.
Now, though, we came prepared — seeing as THIS time, the brains of the operation had an actual BRAIN. What’s more, I had my handy-dandy Tome of Dinomancy that Grottee Metalbeard scored for me, and after we managed to maneuver Oondasta into a clear area, the beastmasters started doing their thing, and everything started falling into place. The dino struggled at first, but soon enough he started giving in to the enchantments of the tome, and full-on taming looked to be right around the corner.
Aaaaaand of course, since this is US, that’s when something stupid happened. The stupid in this case took the form of this random bunch of Alliance nobodies running on in and ATTACKING the damn devilsaur that we were trying to tame. Before we even had a chance to react, they had the dino beaten down pretty badly, and even though we were able to thin the herd pretty quickly once we realized what was going on, the remaining Allies were still able to finish Oondasta off. Like, just shy of one minute before I personally chopped the last handful of them into several dozen pieces.
But, still, damage done. Shokia was nearly as pissed off about it as I was, which is saying something. Apparently it’s some kind of a hunter thing, people killing their prospective pets, and I mean, who the fuck does that? In what other setting is that shit a cool thing to do? Would someone go running into a fucking pet shop, too, and put an axe through the damn goldfish you were getting ready to buy, along with a little model sunk ship and a little model Nazgrim leading his little model crew away from their latest little model disaster? No. Nobody does that. But oh boy, take the “you kill it, you buy it” policy out of the equation, and all of a sudden watch the griefers come out of the woodwork. Fucking rude if you ask me.
Anyway, I suppose we didn’t come away COMPLETELY empty-handed. We know that these tomes actually work, for one thing. And according to my sources, there’s an even bigger, badder devilsaur wandering around out there. A little more elusive, apparently, but we’ll find him.
Also, I have kind of a consolation prize to bring back to base with me. After Oondasta and the bad-judgment-having Alliance jackasses all bought it, we were getting ready to leave, when this young, cobalt-colored direhorn came wandering into the clearing. She went sniffing around Oondasta’s body, then poked around kind of aimlessly before she came over near us. Jorn’s guess is that the direhorn followed Oondasta around and fed on his leftovers. Whatever the story was, she seemed to take a liking to me right away (#TheLadyDinosaursLoveGarrosh?), and started following me, and… well… yeah, I guess I’ve got another mount for my personal stash in the stables. <shrug>
Anyhow, I suppose we’ve got a little time now to line things up for take two with that other devilsaur. In the meantime, I get to figure out how I’m going to get a damn direhorn back to base.
More soon.
Return engagement
We just arrived back in Pandaria. Finally. Granted, we couldn’t get here without a heaping pile of stupid washing up on deck during the trip, because, you know, IT’S US, but whatever. At least we got some decent seafood out of the deal. Plus the Wonder Twins are on notice that I’ll put them on patrol IN THE OCEAN around the base if they get on my nerves too much, and when I say that, it’s not just talk. AS IF THERE SHOULD BE ANY DOUBT TO BEGIN WITH.
General Nazgrim has been holding down the fort at Domination Point while I’ve been away, and, you know, since it’s pretty hard to crash a FORT into anything, everything seems to have gone fairly well. Well, unless you count the asshattery with the genius maneuver Nazgrim and some of his people tried pulling up at the Isle of Giants, but I’ll deal with that soon enough. The less we talk about that, the better. Mainly because the less we talk about it, the less I’m reminded of the crashing stupidity of a depressing percentage of my minions, and the less I’m reminded of that, the less I’m going to feel the urge to drive an Unnecessary Ornamental Spike™ through my skull.
Hey, look, 200 gold is 200 gold. You fuckers have to stop clutching your damn pearls over this. COMMERCE, MOTHERFUCKERS.
While we were away, Elder Cloudfall — you know, the old (hence “Elder,” DUH) panda dude who’s been varying degrees of helpful with the cryptic — took off back to his monastery. (I mean, anybody who thought he was just going to sit around Domination Point all that time NOT stuffing his face on familiar panda fare, take a step forward. Then take another step forward. Then keep taking steps forward until you walk into something sharp.) (MIGHT I RECOMMEND AN UNNECESSARY ORNAMENTAL SPIKE™?)
Cloudfall’s crazy-ass monkey friend Zhi-Zhi, though, decided to stick around the base. I guess he knew Tak-Tak or something (no, not Tak — Tak-Tak, and FUCKING HELL don’t make me go through THAT annoying shitpile again), so he figured he felt well enough at home to save himself the trip back to Tian Monastery and just stayed around the base helping out with odd jobs. I mean, I guess he couldn’t be any worse than some of the OTHER jokers I have on payroll.
Actually, is HE on payroll now? Is Nazgrim actually cutting a check to that fucker? How much? What’s the going rate for monkey labor? Can we pay him in bananas or some shit? I need to know these things.
It’s going to take a few days for me to get fully updated from Nazgrim, Blood Guard Gro’tash, the rest of the command and support staff here. Plus I need to get Mokvar acclimated to the place, seeing as he’s new to Pandaria. Also Brolic, a blademaster Lantresor recommended as an addition to my personal guard. He seems like he’ll be a valuable addition, but since he’s still new, I’d just as soon not assign him right off to work with the trainees the way the last batch of blademasters — Burzum, Ishi, and Krimpatul — did when they were here. For the time being, I’m having the DPS kids join Marksman Shokia and Shademaster Kiryn when they go out on patrol. Fairly controlled situation, watchful eye of two of our better operatives down here, plus it’ll give the kids a chance to get some input from kind of a different perspective, seeing as Shokia is a hunter and Kiryn is a rogue. Neither of which is as awesome or glorious as being a warrior, granted, but, hey. More exposure is better than less exposure.
I mean, in terms of training. Not if you’re talking about, say, an ogre and a platekini. In that case, cover that shit up, dammit. People want to eat lunch sometime this week.
More soon.
From Hellscream’s heart, I stab at thee
So in case any of you were wondering after that last bonus poem the other day, YES, I got sick of Dontrag and Utvoch’s stupid yammering, and YES, I chucked their damn asses overboard, and YES, I’m making them swim the rest of the goddamn way to Pandaria. And before you get your damn bleeding hearts all bloody over them, don’t worry, we’re not just taking off and leaving them — we haven’t been making the best time to begin with, and trust me, the FEAR of getting left behind has kept them swimming at a nice brisk pace.
Now I can already hear your NEXT crybaby objection: “But Garrosh, you’ve been at sea for days, how can they sleep? Alas, wah wah, boo hoo, there’s sand in my hoo-ha.” Well first of all, thank you for taking an interest, Lor’themar, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you on this trip. Second of all, yes, for fuck’s sake, they get to sleep. I’m not a damn monster. The first thing I did after I chucked the idiot brigade overboard… well, hold up, let me be honest. It wasn’t the FIRST thing I did. First I had a good long laugh and took a few hours to savor the sweet, sweet quiet. So, okay, the NEXT thing I did AFTER that was toss a raft and some rope down to Dumber and Dumber Still. So, see? One of them can get on the raft and sleep while the other one pulls him along behind him. Just like a kodo pulling a wagon. Only without the kodo having to pull the wagon through ocean water or do it while wearing heavy plate armor. And also kodos are at least 67% smarter. BUT THE POINT STANDS. They both get to have their goddamn shut-eye. They just have to take turns or draw straws or whatever. So that’s covered.
Meanwhile, since we still have some time to kill before we arrive, that gives me a chance to go over business with the major players we’ve got on hand.
Garrosh, Captain Drok, Mokvar, and Malkorok stand near the stern of the ship, looking out over the sea.
GARROSH: So somebody remind me, weren’t we already supposed to be in Pandaria by this point?
MALKOROK: I do recall the last trip going faster, yes sir.
DROK: It can’t be helped, Warchief. We hit a windless patch the second day that slowed us down. Still waters. Not much to be done about it.
GARROSH: Can’t we go faster now to make up for it?
DONTRAG: <shouting from the waters just off the stern> No, sir! Not faster!
GARROSH: I THINK YOU TWO PINHEADS HAVE BETTER USES FOR YOUR BREATH THAN BITCHING AND MOANING!
UTVOCH: <also shouting from overboard> But sir!
DONTRAG: <overboard> Dammit, Ut, zip it before he starts throwing stuff again!
UTVOCH: <overboard> But my arms are getting tired!
GARROSH: HEY, jackasses — my EARS are getting tired!
UTVOCH: <overboard> Sorry sir…
GARROSH: <turning back to Drok> You’re sure you can’t pick up the pace a little?
MOKVAR: I’m a little confused, actually. Why are we taking a boat, rather than using a mage portal?
GARROSH: Oh, geez, THAT whole shit show…
MALKOROK: You had to remind him of this, didn’t you, scribe…
MOKVAR: Huh? What am I missing?
GARROSH: Yeah, so, we COULD use a mage portal, except for the fact that the mages who came back to Orgrimmar with us all managed to forget to train the damn Shrine portal before they left.
MOKVAR: I… oh.
GARROSH: Yeah, And I guess maybe some of Lor’the’whatever’s magisters might have gotten it, but they’re all camped out on that thunder place and Ponytail hasn’t been returning my messages.
While the others are talking, Giska and Korrina appear nearby and approach the side of the ship, carrying fishing poles.
GISKA: You never learned this at all?
KORRINA: No, never got around to training it.
GARROSH: <calling over from nearby> Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around.
KORRINA: Uh, yes, Captain.
GISKA: Of course, sir.
KORRINA: <aside> Do you know what he’s talking about?
GISKA: <aside> No, but that isn’t uncommon. I usually find keeping quiet and nodding attentively goes a long way, though.
KORRINA: Huh. Good tip.
GISKA: It helps a lot.
KORRINA: So how does this work?
GISKA: Well, first you need to bait your hook…
Giska opens a tackle box and takes out a brightly-colored lure.
So you take one of these and attach it…
Giska hands Korrina another lure and attached her own to her hook.
Like this, see?
KORRINA: Like this?
GISKA: Try to get it— right, there, like that.
KORRINA: <looking at her lure quizzically> The fish are actually fooled by these?
GISKA: Apparently.
KORRINA: Isn’t fish supposed to be brain food? Seems weird they’d be that stupid.
Giska shrugs.
GISKA: Okay, so now, when you’re ready to cast, you wind up like this, then…
Giska casts off the side of the ship; Korrina does as well, a little more awkwardly.
KORRINA: Okay… so what do we do now?
GISKA: We wait.
KORRINA: Oh.
Korrina looks around.
For how long?
GISKA: For as long as it takes for a fish to bite.
KORRINA: Huh.
Korrina looks overboard at her bobber.
Well geez, these fish better hurry up…
UTVOCH: <overboard> Oh hey, there’s like a shrimp or something here! I bet it tastes — aaahh! The shrimp is defending itself somehow!
Giska looks around awkwardly as her fishing line goes taut.
GISKA: Um…
KORRINA: Yeah, definitely not brain food.
DONTRAG: <overboard> Dammit, Ut, stop thrashing around so much!
UTVOCH: <overboard> I swear the shrimp had something sharp in it!
GISKA: Um, I’m not sure I’m going to get that lure back…
KORRINA: You can’t just pull it back?
GISKA: Well, not without ripping up… um… that one’s mouth, probably. Whichever one of them he is. I probably shouldn’t risk it.
GARROSH: <shouting over> Roll those dice, if you ask me.
MOKVAR: You know, boss, if you maim everyone who annoys you, eventually you will run out of people to maim…
GARROSH: Yeah, like I’m worried about the bottomless well of anonymous red shirts running out.
GISKA: Huh. Well…
Giska tries tugging back her line, setting off a pained wail from Utvoch out of view.
Right. So. I’ll just… let that one go and get a new lure…
Gurtash and Kulkesh enter, walking close to either side of Ruekie, who appears to be moving unsteadily.
KULKESH: Okay… just a little farther…
GURTASH: Watch this next step, Ruekie.
KORRINA: She’s not doing any better?
GURTASH: It’s even worse now. You know… morning and all.
RUEKIE: <trying to steady herself> Why…? Why would they do it…?
GISKA: What did I miss?
KULKESH: Well, she—
RUEKIE: <flailing> What kind of sadist stocks a galley like that?!
Gurtash and Kulkesh try to steady Ruekie.
GURTASH: Kafa withdrawal…
KULKESH: The galley ran out yesterday.
GISKA: Wait, she’s gone without kafa for less than a day so far, and she’s already—
RUEKIE: Seventeen nightmarish hours! Seventeen!
GURTASH: You do not appreciate how much of that stuff she drinks…
GISKA: And… I mean, wouldn’t eight of those have been spent sleeping anyway?
RUEKIE: They were now — without the wakeful buzz of my sweet haste buff! Oh… oh how I miss you, my wired caramelly haze…
KORRINA: See what you miss, being all early-to-bed and early-to-rise, Giska?
KULKESH: I guess the galley just stocked enough kafa to last a couple days—
RUEKIE: <flailing> who does that?! Why?! I— they— We— <whimpers> I feel so slow…
KULKESH: Right… so… We only had enough for a couple days, and now the trip’s ended up taking longer, so…
RUEKIE: They should have poured the kafa on the boat! For the haste buff! To— to get us there faster! Where… where the kafa is! But… but then there would be even less kafa left… and we wouldn’t… but… but we would get there faster… and… uh…
Ruekie flails wildly while Kulkesh and Gurtash try to steady her.
Aaaaaahhhhhh paradoxes! Fel with them!
GISKA: Uh, so… Ruekie… why don’t you just… get some fresh sea air and… and try to relax?
RUEKIE: <closing her eyes and swaying back and forth> Okay… okay… calming and relaxing… calming and… and… <whimpers< I swear if Gul’dan offered me a green cappuccino right now I’d be half tempted…
KORRINA: Uh. Yeah. Okay.
Korrina looks out at the ocean, then to Giska.
So… how long do these fish take?
GISKA: There’s no telling, really.
KORRINA: I mean, it’s been a while now.
GISKA: Not really. Sometimes it can take hours to get a bite.
KORRINA: Hours to…? Why do people make a hobby of this crap?!
GISKA: It’s not so bad. Think of it as a chance to clear your head and center yourself. I do some of my best meditating while I’m fishing.
KORRINA: Oh geez, here you go with that kung-fu panda stuff again…
GISKA: I’m just saying it can be soothing.
KORRINA: For you maybe! It’s already getting on my nerves.
Korrina’s line tugs a few times.
Oh. Oh hey, wait… That’s not one of those guys, is it?
GISKA: <looking overboard> I don’t think so… not sure, though…
UTVOCH: <overboard> Uh, Donty, don’t swim so close?
DONTRAG: <overboard> What are you talking about? I’m all the way over here!
UTVOCH: <overboard> You weren’t just over by me?
DONTRAG: <overboard> Ut, have you not noticed me swimming over here this whole time?
UTVOCH: <overboard> Then what just went by my leg?
DONTRAG: <overboard> I don’t know, a fish or something?
KULKESH: <looking over the side of the ship> Um, guys, do you see something down there?
GISKA: I’m not sure. They’re frothing around a lot. It’s hard to see.
KORRINA: <pulling back on her reel> Dunno, I’m more interested in this. I think I’ve got something!
RUEKIE: What is it?
KORRINA: I don’t know! Whatever it is, it’s putting up a fight!
KULKESH: A tuna, maybe? Those are pretty big.
GURTASH: Tasty, too!
RUEKIE: <grumbling> Kafa’s still better.
GURTASH: Well, yeah, but you can’t live on kafa.
RUEKIE: Don’t you even say that in fun!
GISKA: Whew, if we’re reeling tuna in, I’m glad Master Ji didn’t come along…
KORRINA: Must be a big one — it’s really putting up a fight!
DONTRAG: <overboard> Um… it looks like a fin or something…
UTVOCH: Yeah, well it feels like… it…
Utvoch looks over to one side as a large dorsal fin emerges from the water next to him.
Uh oh…
KULKESH: Hey! Look at that!
RUEKIE: Whoa!
KULKESH: I knew I saw something down there!
GURTASH: What kind of fish is that?
KORRINA: <pulling harder on her reel> A soon-to-be-dead one, if I can help it!
GURTASH: You’ve got that thing?
KORRINA: Dunno, but I’ve got something! And whatever it is is pretty strong for a fish…
Utvoch swims more frantically while looking over at the fin.
UTVOCH: <overboard> Uh, Donty… I think there’s… I think I feel something under me!
DONTRAG: <overboard> Well there kind of has to be, right, unless there’s like a troll wearing a big fake fin!
GURTASH: Uh, Captain, you maybe want to look at this…
GARROSH and DROK: What?
Garrosh and Drok look at each other.
DROK: Wouldn’t that be…?
GARROSH: I’m pretty sure he meant me.
MOKVAR: Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t run into that issue before on this trip…
GURTASH: <pointing overboard> Down there, sir! Look!
KULKESH: Korrina caught something, sir!
KORRINA: I think!
RUEKIE: It’s a big one!
Dontrag and Utvoch shout as the huge dorsal fin descends then rises again, with a giant creature visibly swelling the ocean water from beneath them.
DONTRAG: <overboard> Uhh Warchief!
UTVOCH: <overboard> Sir, I think we have a problem here!
Garrosh goes to the side of the ship and looks over.
GARROSH: What the hell have you idiots done this time?!
DONTRAG: <overboard> We swear, sir, we didn’t do anything!
UTVOCH: <overboard> Honest, Warchief, we—
Another giant fin splashes up out of the water and knocks Utvoch over. After a moment, Utvoch emerges, gasping, nearby.
DROK: Ohh, wait a minute… Could it…?
With another large, loud splash, an immense fish-like creature emerges from beneath the surface of the water, then crashes back down, sending a large splash onto the deck of the boat — dousing Garrosh and Drok in the process.
GARROSH: DAMMIT, you fuckheads, you can’t do ANYTHING without making a big fucking clown show out of it, can you!
DONTRAG: <overboard, scrambling around in the waves> Sorry, Warchief! We didn’t mean to!
UTVOCH: <overboard> We’re sorry having you throw us overboard ended up causing an inconvenience for you, sir!
KORRINA: I think this might have been me, actually, Captain…
Garrosh and Drok start to talk over each other, then look at each other.
GARROSH: Seriously, dude. When one of them says it, they mean me.
DROK: Aye, sorry, Warchief.
GARROSH: And what do you mean YOU did this?
One of the fins crashes up and back down to the water again, sending Dontrag crashing into the side of the boat.
KULKESH: Oh, that one had to hurt…
KORRINA: Well, sir, I think I might have, uh, hooked it…
GISKA: I was showing her how to fish just now, Captain…
GARROSH: Oh. Oh sure. Of course. A member of the Saurfang line goes fishing for the first time, and what happens? She catches a fucking WHALE…
KULKESH: Is it a whale?
KORRINA: As opposed to?
KULKESH: A big fish, I guess.
KORRINA: How do you tell the difference?
GISKA: Well, if it’s a whale, it would have a blowhole and come to the surface to breathe.
RUEKIE: A blowhole?
GURTASH: Oh no. Here we go…
GISKA: Right, you know, whales don’t have gills, so…
GARROSH: How the hell did that thing wind up right on top of us?
MOKVAR: Other than the Saurfang thing.
GARROSH: Yeah, other than that.
DROK: Well, sir…
Another swatting of fins sends Dontrag and Utvoch crashing into each other.
UTVOCH: <overboard> Uh, Warchief…!
DONTRAG: <overboard> This is really becoming not fun down here, sir!
GARROSH: WELL MAYBE YOU GENIUSES SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU WERE JACKASSES SINCE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, NOW SHOULDN’T YOU?
DONTRAG: <overboard, struggling to pull his head back above water> Yes sir…
UTVOCH: <overboard> Sorry sir…
GISKA: Okay, so look, see, it’s got its back up above the water, so if it’s a whale…
RUEKIE: Oh!
Ruekie leans out over the side of the ship.
GARROSH: Rook, what the hell are you doing?
RUEKIE: Looking for the blowhole, sir!
GURTASH: Wait for it…
RUEKIE: I want to see all that stuff shoot out everywhere!
GURTASH: Aaaaand there it is.
MOKVAR: She does this on purpose, right?
RUEKIE: Does what…? <suddenly looks horrified> Oh gosh!
DROK: Actually, Warchief, I’m a fair bit sure I know what that thing is. Though I can’t say I ever expected I to see it again…
GARROSH: Well don’t just stand there being ominous, Drok. What the hell is it?
KORRINA: Is it a whale? I bet it’s a whale. I caught a whale!
GISKA: I don’t think I saw a blowhole on its back…
RUEKIE: <blushing> Could we not use that word anymore…?
DROK: It’s not a whale, sir. Whales… ah, they’re mostly harmless so long as you give them a wide berth. But this… aye, this is what whales would dream of if they had nightmares.
KORRINA: Oh so I caught something even more badass? Awesome!
GISKA: Well, I mean, you haven’t really caught it…
KORRINA: That’s just jealousy!
GARROSH: Yeah, so, Captain, I’m still hearing too much ominous and not enough answers.
Drok continues looking out at the sea without comment.
Uh, Captain?
Drok looks back to Garrosh.
DROK: Oh. The “Captain” was for me this time?
GARROSH: Dude, try to keep up. I was the one SAYING it. I’m not going to be talking to MYSELF, am I?
DROK: Aye, I reckon not, sir.
GARROSH: Right, so—
More crashing waves — accompanied by more panicked shouts from Dontrag and Utvoch — send the whole ship bucking violently. Everyone tries to steady themselves while deckhands scramble around.
DROK: <shouting toward the bow> Helm! Try bringing us around portside and give us some distance!
DONTRAG: <overboard> Warchief? Um, a rope maybe?
UTVOCH: <overboard> Please, sir?
GARROSH: YOU TWO SHUT UP WHILE I’M WORRYING ABOUT MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN YOU, IN OTHER WORDS ANYTHING.
DONTRAG: <overboard> Yes sir…
GARROSH: So do I get an answer here, Drok, or do we have to play fucking charades or some shit?
DROK: It’s not a whale, Warchief. It’s a whale shark. The kind we saw in the deep waters around Vashj’ir, back when I first served under General Nazgrim. Legionnaire then, sir. They don’t often venture this far south… or far north… but this one… Ah, yes, this one, sir. This one’s an exception.
GARROSH: Wait, you know this one specifically?
DROK: Aye, sir. I’ve seen him before. Never expected I might again. At least I would have hoped…
MOKVAR: How can you tell it’s not just some other whale shark?
MALKOROK: <calling below> Gunners! Get up here and man the cannons!
DROK: Look… on his next pass… aye, there!
The whale shark emerges again, setting off waves that send the ship tilting to one side; in the process, it also lifts Dontrag and Utvoch on its back, where they flail around frantically.
There, see, Warchief, the great white hump on the beast’s back…
GARROSH: Dammit, you idiots, get out of the way — you’re blocking the view!
DONTRAG: <sliding around on the whale shark’s back awkwardly> But— but sir…!
GARROSH: BUT NOTHING! Don’t make me tell the gunners to aim at you FIRST!
UTVOCH: <spilling off the side of the whale shark> Yes si— oof!
DROK: And there, Warchief… see the wrinkled white forehead… and along the one side, that long scar, left by ill-fated attempts in days long past to bring the monster down…
UTVOCH: <invisible amid the crashing waves> I really don’t like the sound of this, sir!
GARROSH: Neither do I, if by “this” you mean “your endless bitching”!
While the whole shark sinks and rises again amid the waves, Utvoch manages to climb onto its back and grab onto the dorsal fin.
UTVOCH: Donty! Up here! If we hold on to the fin maybe it won’t be able to bite us!
GISKA: So Captain…
Garrosh looks at her.
Um, Captain Drok, I mean.
Garrosh shrugs.
How do you know about this shark?
DROK: Ah, young’un, this beast has a name for himself, ’mid those of us sail the oceans. Mobius-Dick, the great white whale shark. Told in whispers, mostly, a ghost story for the seas, but for me, and a handful of others, well, we knew all too well he’s real.
The whale shark breaches and crashes back down on the water, rocking the ship again, then dives below the surface. Korrina’s fishing pole gets yanked out of her hands.
KORRINA: Wha— Oh dammit!
DROK: I’ve seen the beast once before, Warchief. You remember, Warchief, back before General Nazgrim found Pandaria in the southern seas, you remember I’d gone on an expedition for him to the northern ones.
GARROSH: Right, I remember. The force we sent to Northrend.
DROK: To pick up a certain arcane trinket. And deliver it to your blood elf friend a ways east.
MALKOROK: Hmph. Bite your tongue, Drok, calling that pompous elf a friend.
DROK: Ah, but he was good at his job in any case, though, wasn’t he.
GARROSH: Did a good job on the mana bomb, true enough.
DROK: Yes, sir — I like to think we had a hand in it as well. Sure, by the time Thalen was working his magic — heh! — we were setting said back home through the northern seas, but I like to think us delivering… well, Warchief, you know… I like to think, in a way, that we delivered the mana bomb.
GARROSH: So, what, on the way back is when you saw this thing or something?
DROK: Aye. On the way home.
Drok goes quiet moment while the crashing of waves around them goes more still.
Mobius-Dick slammed unannounced into our side, Warchief, barely a day out of our rendezvous delivering the mana bomb. 110 orcs went into the water. Ship went down in minutes. And of course, Warchief, our mission had been so secret, no rescue was bound to be coming, not right away. First light, Warchief, Mobius-Dick come cruising back again. So we formed ourselves in tight groups. <chuckles grimly> You know, like maneuvers from basic training, closing the ranks… <waving toward the trainees without looking at them> You young ones learning all that, I wager… And the idea was, whale shark comes near a the group and they’d start pounding and hollering… and sometimes the whale shark would go away. Sometimes he wouldn’t go away… So, 110 orcs went in the water, 31 come out, Mobius-Dick took the rest, twelve days before Theramore. Anyway… we delivered the mana bomb.
MOKVAR: Spirits.
KULKESH: <aside> Remind me never to sign up for naval duty.
GISKA: <aside> Yeah. <beat> Also, don’t phrase it that way too loud around Ruekie.
KULKESH: <aside> Could be entertaining, though.
GISKA: <aside> True.
GARROSH: How did I not hear about any of this?
MALKOROK: We had reports of an incident at sea and recovery, Warchief, but I don’t remember being given the details.
GARROSH: Because I REMEMBER you commanding one of the ships in at Theramore, Drok.
DROK: That I did, Warchief.
GARROSH: In fact, I’m pretty sure you delivered the small strike force we sent in to extract Thalen.
DROK: I suppose I’m a veritable delivery man, sir.
MOKVAR: So you mean you came home from… from that, and turned right around to take another mission?
DROK: I’m a soldier of the Horde, sir, and Nazgrim trained me well. I’m a soldier and I had my duty, and so long as I still have legs, I’ll perform it.
GARROSH: Well, whatever it is, if it—
With a loud crash of waves, Mobius-Dick — with Dontrag and Utvoch still hanging desperately onto its dorsal fin — emerges close to the ship, causing a surge of waves that sends the ship tilting sharply to one side. Deckhands scramble around while Drok barks orders.
DONTRAG: <sputtering for breath> Guh— we— Ut? You still there?
UTVOCH: <sputtering as well> Yeah— I— blurg— I can’t see you, though, I think I got like some salt water in my eyes somehow…
MALKOROK: Get those cannons armed while we have a clear line on it!
DONTRAG: Warchief?
DROK: Aye, sir!
UTVOCH: Sir?
GARROSH: OPEN FIRE!
The cannoneers open fire at Mobius-Dick; the whale shark thrashes violently and splashes water heavily over the deck, dousing everyone nearby.
KORRINA: Guh!
MOKVAR: Dammit, I just dried this suit…
RUEKIE: Ack! That big Dick got me all wet!
KULKESH: Uh…
KORRINA: Uh… Ruek…
GISKA: It’s… it’s not even worth getting into.
MOKVAR: Are we sure she’s not doing it on purpose?
Another round of cannon fire pelts one side of the whale shark — with Dontrag and Utvoch visible still clinging to the dorsal fin.
DONTRAG: <sputtering> You know, Ut, I’m starting to think maybe this fin idea might not have been the best plan…
UTVOCH: <gasping for breath> Well geez, would you rather get swallowed?
DONTRAG: It might be better than getting pulled under till we drown!
UTVOCH: But then we’d get… like…. slowly digested for a thousand years or something!
DROK: Helm, keep us alongside! Don’t let him close on us!
MALKOROK: Kor’kron! Maintain fire!
DONTRAG: Wait! Sir!
UTVOCH: Warchief, please!
Dontrag and Utvoch clamber in tighter against the dorsal fin, partially trying to use it for cover amid the increasing hail of cannonballs.
GARROSH: I’M HEARING WAY TOO MUCH NOISE FROM THE FUCKING EXPENDABLES. <bellowing below deck> Get some shaman up here to try to steady the waters! And while we’re at it, hey, how about some of those beastmasters we brought get their damn asses up here, what with we got a goddamn beast that could use some mastering! Unless they’re all working at the frigging Steve level!
UTVOCH: Poor Steve!
DONTRAG: Spirits rest his soul — I can’t believe he’s gone!
UTVOCH: Yeah, I know — he owed me like fifteen gold…
DONTRAG: Dammit, Ut, the poor guy’s dead! Eaten even!
UTVOCH: <hanging on to the whale shark desperately as it thrashes> Yeah, well, better him than us!
DONTRAG: Ut, there were never any devilsaur gonna eat us!
UTVOCH: Spirits’ sake, Donty, look where we are right now!
GARROSH: OKAY, THAT’S IT, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THE PRATTLING IDIOT SOUNDTRACK ON CONSTANT LOOP WHILE WE HAVE LITERAL BIGGER FISH TO FRY!
Garrosh grabs a harpoon from a weapons rack and runs back to the edge of the deck.
DONTRAG: Warchief! We’re sorry, sir!
UTVOCH: We really mean it this time, sir! Cross our hearts and hope to —
DONTRAG: Dammit, Ut!
GARROSH: SHUT! THE FUCK! UP!
Garrosh hurls the harpoon toward Mobius-Dick — hitting it square in the middle of its wrinkled forehead. The whale shark thrashes violently, shaking Dontrag and Utvoch off its back; the duo fly toward the ship. The whale shark’s thrashing causes a wave that douses the deck again, just as D&U crash into Garrosh.
DONTRAG: <sprawled, with Utvoch, awkwardly on the deck> I… I don’t think I like seafood anymore…
UTVOCH: My hands are all pruney…
GARROSH: <drumming his fingers on the deck> You know, I’ll bet you anything this kind of shit didn’t used to happen to Thrall…
So… yeah. That was a thing. More fun than you’re ever going to have without lighting your own head on fire. On the plus side, turns out that whale shark steaks are pretty tasty. Although overall I don’t know if I can recommend them, what with the accompanying side order of moron jackassery. Or do they count that as a garnish? Tough call.
Either way, we should be reaching Pandaria soon. Cross your fingers for no more outbreaks of stupidity.
Lyrical leftovers
Did I say that was the LAST dose of reader-prompted poetry-month-honoring EPIC VERSE you were getting treated to? WELL GUESS WHAT, MOTHERFUCKERS, I just took a cursory look at my handy desk calendar, the one where I would note down everybody’s birthday if I actually gave half a fuck, and THE MONTH ISN’T OVER YET. So even though it’s too damn late for you lazy scrubs to send in a poem of your own for the INTERNET FAME AND RECOGNITION YOU DON’T EVEN REMOTELY DESERVE BUT ARE GOING TO WIND UP GETTING ANYWAY BECAUSE THANKS GARROSH, there’s still time to grab one more of these submissions from the pile and treat you to one more of dose of awesome.
Because I’m a giver. And because I underpromise and overdeliver. And also because I’m still stuck on this damn boat heading down to Pandaria and if I don’t find something vaguely productive to do then it’s just a matter of time before SOMEONE on this boat starts to look irresistibly breakable.
So, speaking of people I would relish snapping into a couple hundred very tiny pieces (admittedly, this isn’t exactly an exclusive club), today’s reader poem comes from… <sigh>… spirits help us… Dontrag and Utvoch.
So… you know… not too much else for me to say about that. Let’s get this over with.
ONE MEAN, TOO MEAN.
We Mean Hellscream
By Sargeant Dontrag
And Grunt Utvoch
One mean, too mean
Garrosh Hellscream.
We mean you’re mean.
Too mean, we scream.
One mean, too mean.
Not share, no fair.
Don’t care anywhere.
Only care lemon square.
One mean, too mean
Slam door, stomp floor.
Settle score once more.
Nevermore Theramore.
One mean, too mean
One joke, two pokes.
Two blokes, slowpokes.
Two strokes, both croaks.
(Not yet, anyway)
One mean, too mean.
Not green, it seem.
You preen, ladies scream.
Umpteen, it’s obscene.
One mean, too mean.
Even seem little teen.
Figurine mean machine.
Femineene Hellscream.
Umm.
One mean, too mean.
Bell cursed, orcs worst.
Wrynn dispersed, left in hearse.
Got a nurse, death reversed.
Uh.
One mean, too mean.
Poor Steve, we grieve.
We leave before peeve.
Eve receive heave cleave.
Bye.
So… I suppose… I mean, I don’t even… Yeah. Fine. So there’s that.
It bears noting, by the way? That poem required two people to write.
Meanwhile, returning to the land of the not-stupid who can scrape together a few rhymes without needing to hold a conference, time for me to offer my… response. Which… yeah. I don’t really see this ending well, but here goes.
One herp, two derp.
Lunchtime, slurp burp.
No twirp usurp
Kings of herp-derp.
One herp, two derp.
Birdbrain, my bane.
Their brain: shit stain.
My pain? Explain:
One herp, two derp.
See me at sea.
Trainee runs free;
As for me? Can’t flee.
One herp, two derp.
Their insane word chain.
I complain; migrane;
Profane; bloodstain.
One herp, two derp.
Three smacks (four max).
Rage stacks, bone cracks,
My axe cleaves sacks.
One herp, two derp.
Each goon a buffoon.
Both hewn by noon.
Harpoon: death soon.
One herp, two derp.
Abhorred; need sword.
Kick toward Howling Fjord,
Thrown, soared, overboard.
One herp, two derp.
One blast from mast;
Ship fast; they’ve passed,
Distance vast; peace at last.
BYE MOTHERFUCKING BYE, MOTHERFUCKERS.
EPIC VERSE!
I mean, not that I should ever be surprised when Dumb and Dumber do something idiotic, but they REALLY didn’t think this one through, seeing as they sent me their… their… verbal equivalent of brain cancer, KNOWING full well they were going to be on a ship with me where there would be very few places to hide or run away.
Oh well. At least they get to practice their swimming now. For the entire rest of the trip. STOP YOUR BITCHING, JACKASSES, SWIMMING IS HEALTHY. Especially when the alternative to swimming is being on a boat with someone who’s liable to fucking MURDER you.
So. That wraps up this edition of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge for real. Thanks and congrats to everyone who contributed, all that stuff, whatever. I’m sure I’ll be throwing down some more EPIC VERSE soon enough just because. Or EPIC TALES of my EPIC LIFE. Or if you-know-who and you-know-who-else decide to try to crawl back on board, maybe EPIC RECAPS of me giving an EPIC BEATING to a couple EPIC PAINS in my EPIC ASS.
Okay, enough of that crap. Time to go up on deck and… I don’t know… be bored looking at the same view of the ocean I’ve been staring at this whole trip. Or listen to the Wonder Twins bickering about how to do a breaststroke. Or both. Ugh.
Water water everywhere, I think I need a drink.
Further poetic meditations on SUPREME IDIOCY
Okay, people, as promised, it’s time for our first installment of GARROSH’S POETRY CHALLENGE: The Make You Lazy Fuckers Do Some of the Work For a Change Edition. Although we’re probably going to just go with “Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge” for short, because the full title is probably a little cumbersome to try to cram onto the cover when the paperback comes out. ANYWAY. Luckily, not ALL of you lazy fuckers in question were COMPLETELY lazy this time around (but let’s make no mistake, some of you were, and I HAVE MY EYE ON YOU NOW, YES I SURE DO, SPARKY), so we’ve got candidates for this first edition.
So today’s proud contributor, whole WHOLE LIFE WILL NO DOUBT BE GRANTED NEW MEANING by her recognition here, is @LibFeathers, a regular Twitter contributor… um… participant… follow… erm… I KNOW HER MOSTLY FROM TWITTER, OKAY? Go follow her and get the fuck off my back.
Anyhow, here’s Libby’s contribution:
When Garrosh took over the Horde
two orcs caused some major discord.
A sergeant and scout –
such nonsense they’d spout.
Their behavior he truly deplored.
Sergeant Dontrag was never without
his old buddy Utvoch, the scout.
They joked, goofed, and roared.
They could not be ignored.
So Garrosh whacked them both right on the snout.
Not fucking bad, if I do say so myself. Of course, if I DID say so myself, as in said the actual POEM myself, it would be at least 280% more EPIC, but that’s no criticism of her because let’s be real, you people aren’t expected to perform at my level.
So, speaking of performing at my level and saying so myself, hold on to your asses, bitches, because it’s my turn, PICKING RIGHT UP WHERE LIBBY LEFT OFF:
So Dontrag and Utvoch blabbed on,
Till Garrosh just wished they were gone.
He chugged down a gallon,
Sent them to Stonetalon;
They came back; the whacks were back on.
Alas, the whacking did no good!
(It’s amazing how much they withstood.)
Despite all the pain,
D&U grew no brains;
Possibly due to heads made of wood.
When Gurtash rode off on wolfback,
Garrosh gathered up D, U, & Tak,
Decreed that this group’ll
Keep tabs on his pupil,
Just in case he came under attack.
That plan proved clairvoyant because
Gurtash doesn’t fight well; Utvoch does.
As reward for that stunt
He made Utvoch a Grunt,
Despite not knowing which one he was.
Garrosh tried to fix that with a spell,
But it didn’t work out very well;
Full of fail so contagious,
So disadvantageous,
Even arcane enchants go to fel.
Garrosh can’t make them shut up or shoo,
So for now some good earplugs will do.
I’ll repeat this forever:
You know you can’t ever
Spell dumbass without D and U.
EPIC VERSE!
THERE YOU GO, motherfuckers. DEAL WITH IT.
So, as I said the other day, this is going to be a weekly feature for National Poetry Month, so get your own poetic compositions in and see if I decide to grace them with the Garrosh treatment. SAME EPIC TIME, SAME EPIC WEBSITE.
[Keep those lyrical masterpieces coming! All submissions received by next Monday (April 11) will be eligible for next Thursday’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Feel free to use the email link in the upper right sidebar, or, contact form incoming…]
Identity crisis
So, I got a comment from Khizzara on that last mailbag that kind of got me thinking. See, she looked at the picture Sarlin sent with her letter about running into Dontrag and Utvoch in Ashenvale, and how it looks like they have their names floating over their heads, which they actually DON’T and it just looked that way because Sarlin did some kind of thingy-whatsy with the picture after the fact. Which is kind of a dumb thing not to recognize right off, especially from someone like Khizzara who’s supposed to be a mage and smart and stuff, but maybe her int buff isn’t working or some shit. Or maybe Spazzle just got the brains in the family. Whatever.
Anyhow, though, that comment got me thinking about how handy it would be if those two DID have their names hovering over their heads, because let’s face it, Khizzara DOES have a point about how nobody can tell the Wonder Twins apart. And granted, in my case, that’s at least partly due to me not really giving a shit, but still. It’ll save at least a couple headaches.
I figured I’d see about getting some actual return on my investment in all these mage lessons Shayari’s been getting from Faranell over in the Undercity, so I gave her a new project to work on: casting a glamor spell (she liked the sound of that a lot more before I spelled out what I meant) on Dontrag and Utvoch that actually WOULD make their names float over their heads. Turns out, that kind of a spell wasn’t even all that complicated to put together.
Hold your horses. You know what usually happens around here when something looks like smooth sailing.
So Shay tried her spell out yesterday, and at first everything seemed to be going fine. “Dontrag” hovering over Dontrag (I think), “Utvoch” hovering over Utvoch (I believe), and, so far as the spell was to be believed, 70% less confusion about which of those idiots was which, and a residual 30% reduction in how much I needed to smack them around. Which I know is a lot less than the 70%, but come on, they’re still dumb and annoying, right? NO JURY WOULD CONVICT ME.
So that seemed to be going fine. But then, after a little while, the spell started going haywire. As in, it kept putting the names over Dumb and Dumber’s heads, but it started switching them around — putting “Dontrag” over Utvoch and “Utvoch” over Dontrag. Now, mind you, I didn’t really notice this myself right away, largely because recognizing the problem would require me to care enough about which of them is which, and I mean, if I could just LOOK at those two and know who was D and who was U, I wouldn’t NEED the damn glamor in the first place, right? But at one point while Shay was tinkering with the spell, Taktani bounced by, and don’t ask me how but she always seems to be able to keep those two idiots straight. I don’t know, she’s a cat most of the time, so maybe her kitty-sense tingles or something. Point is, the names started switching around. Why, I don’t know. Maybe Shay forgot to cross some T’s and dot some I’s setting up the spell. Maybe the sheer AURA OF FAILURE that surrounds those two is so potent that it even makes magic break down after a while. Maybe they’re just so damn indistinguishable that even the UNIVERSE ITSELF gets confused eventually, magic or no. Don’t ask me, I just work here.
Thing is, that wasn’t even the worst of it. Because, see, obviously the glamor was visible to EVERYONE, right? So the Wonder Twins themselves could read each other’s arcane name tags, but then, when the spell started going wonky and mixing them up, THE IDIOTS THEMSELVES started getting all distressed and confused and thinking THEY had it wrong, and maybe they weren’t really who they thought they were. And this led to like an hour and a half of Dontrag worrying that he might actually be Utvoch, and Utvoch getting an ulcer thinking he’s been living a lie when he should have been Dontrag, until finally I had to bonk their damn heads together to shut them up because who needs to to listen to that shit.
So while they were out cold, I had Shay lift the damn spell. It’s just not fucking worth it if it’s not even going to work half the time, and just gives those two one more thing to yammer about. Hell, who the fuck would have guessed that one little would-be hocus-pocus convenience would result in a pair of blithering mental defectives having a full-on existential crisis?
So yeah. Back to the drawing board. Moving on.
More soon.
Monday mailbag
Another Monday, another batch of letters. Let’s see what my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS have to say to their favorite Warchief…
I feel like it’s been quite some time since last we corresponded. As it happens, I have been travelling, and taking a quill to parchment didn’t really make the cut of amazing new things to do. Which I happen to have recorded on a piece of parchment that I believe I wrote up two weeks ago. Anywho. By the way, did Rue’kara get her writing supplies back?
Anyway, my travels took me and Anaria to Ashenvale, where I made a very brief stop at the Silverwind Outpost to gather some rations and fresh arrows. Don’t worry, Ana stayed outside. I think she was freaked out by all the Night Elf corpses. Which, by the way, I totally respect you fighting a war and all, but couldn’t you at least clean them up?
Anyway…what I really wanted to bring up with you was the fact that I may or may not have bumped into your orcish associates, Seargent Dontrag and Scout Utvoch. Photographic evidence below;
My question may be perceived as rhetorical, but I am genuinely intrigued; where did they learn math? And also, when did math start becoming relevant in the days of the week? I think there was something about Brewfest math too but I’d zoned out at that point.
I really am sorry.
I hope your luck is treating you well.
–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade
Well I’ll be damned, Sarlin, you were able to get in under the 250-word limit without even breaking a sweat. Will wonders ever cease.
So… yeah. You met those two. And… just to recap, for anyone who wasn’t paying attention, let me direct your attention to Sarlin in this picture…
…and yeah, that’s pretty much the look I have on MY face when the Wonder Twins turn up, too.
By the way, it’s not Scout Utvoch anymore, just FYI. He’s Grunt Utvoch now, as of a couple days ago when he got a promotion. Was he still wearing his Scout insignia? Minor point, I know, but stay tuned, we’ll come back to it.
Good news is, Sarlin, I’ve got an easy answer for your question. Where did D&U learn math? They didn’t. Pro tip: any time a question begins “Where did D&U learn,” the answer is they didn’t. Every single time.
To be honest with you, though, I’m less concerned about D&U’s grasp of math (hang on — I think reality just shuddered a little at me stringing THOSE words together consecutively) than I am about their grasp of GEOGRAPHY. You say you ran into them at SILVERWIND REFUGE? Just… hanging out like they were ON DUTY or something?
Dude… they USED to be stationed out there, then I fucking reassigned them to Stonetalon… like TWO YEARS AGO. They served there under Krom’gar (and the less said about THAT motherfucker the better), then STAYED up that way when I put the region under Overlord Cliffwalker’s jurisdiction. And okay, then Cliffwalker pulled a fast one on me and shipped their asses down to Pandaria to get them out of his hair and back into mine. And for this past little while now, while I’ve been back in Orgrimmar, they’ve been in town here too, temporarily, pending the return trip south.
And the reason I’m even going into this much detail about it is so you can really appreciate the chain of travels, relocations, and reassignments that D&U have had SINCE the last time they were supposed to be in Silverwind Refuge.
And yet, there they were.
You know what? Fuck it. Good place for ’em. Let Captain Tarkan worry about what to do with ’em. Maybe they can go farm some Molten Front dailies, too, while they’re keeping busy in Three-Major-Villains-Ago Land. Maybe that’s just how slow their brains are, that they’re still getting caught up from like two years ago, and so every so often they have a collective brain fart and think they’re still supposed to be at the base where they USED to be stationed and HEY EUREKA maybe THAT’S why Utvoch was still going by “Scout,” because the goddamn hamster wheel in his brain is still spin spin spinning around trying to get caught up to TODAY, and sometimes the hamster falls over in the wheel and gets whipped around a few hundred times and in its dizzy confusion it has to take a wild guess at what year it is and sometimes it guesses wrong. So HEY, UTVOCH, in case you’re reading this, check it out, THE LICH KING IS DEAD NOW, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT?
Isn’t Rhonin dead? I live in Dalaran and I hear him say something, like, every five minutes or something? Something about raising our eyes to the skies and observing? Why am I still hearing this? Is Rhonin’s ghost haunting us forever with his endless speech?
–Clarise Sunbow
Okay, so, I think I’m kind of in a unique position to say, definitely, that yes, Rhonin is dead. No two ways about it, dude got himself deaded up right good. Still, Clarise, that IS one hell of a weird thing to be stuck listening to over and over all day (not to mention annoying as fuck), so I went ahead and did a little research for you. NO NEED TO THANK ME. Seeing as you’ve apparently got a dead guy turning up and doing the same shit over and over, I went ahead and consulted with my own resident dead guy with a history of doing the same shit over and over, Doc Faranell over in the Undercity. Well, that is, I TRIED consulting with him on this. He mostly just kind of stared at me forlornly. Not especially helpful, really. Come to think of it, maybe Faranell wouldn’t know as much about this as I was thinking. I mean, yeah, two dead guys, but “walking around playing poker on Fridays”-dead is a lot different from “blown up by a mana bomb”-dead.
Luckily, though, I WAS eventually able to drag a possible answer out of Faranell, but he did it drawing more from the part where he’s a mage than from the part where he’s a reanimated dead guy with a history of being trapped in infinitely repeating time loops. Which, of the two, is really kind of the more mundane part of Faranell’s deal, and come to think of it, what kind of crazy bizarro world are we stuck in where being a fucking WIZARD is the BORING thing about someone? But anyhow, Faranell blathered some stuff about what’s probably going on, a lot of which I don’t really remember too well because it involved a load of technical magic talk and also because I wasn’t paying attention too closely because, let’s be honest, I don’t really care that much. BUT I SAID I WAS GOING TO GET YOU AN ANSWER, DAMMIT.
We soldier on.
So the gist of it is that after Rhonin got his ass arcane-kablooeyed all across the swamp, something about his personal magic power got amped up by the mana bomb magic power and the Focusing Iris magic power and did a thing with the whole Dalaran magic-ground-zero power, and something about a place that was personally important to him, and some other shit Faranell said that who the fuck can follow and who even cares really, and the end result is there’s some kind of arcane echo of Rhonin that’s been projected into Dalaran that keeps replaying a moment of his life over and over again. Which kind of makes me glad the dude never swung by this neck of the woods for a visit, because I’ve got enough pains in the ass to deal with without having to listen to “CITIZENS OF ORGRIMMAR! LOOK TO THE SKY!” every five minutes.
Tomorrow I am going to the Valley of Trials to face my om’riggor. At my father’s insistence, I write to you to confirm I will be joining that trainee program of yours, though I fail to see what I’ll get out of it. For the record, my father told me I should become a hunter, but I am no hunter’s son. Perhaps the Thunderlord of old thought that was good enough for them, but my father keeps wolves and my mother was a warrior, so I will keep wolves and fight for Orgrimmar. I was surprised when he told me, though; all I was ever told about my ancestral clan was that they kept the last wolf pen on Draenor around the time of the reign of Ner’zhul.
If you and my father are truly so frightened I will get myself killed, let me make this vow: when I am seasoned enough to command my own warriors, I will find my mothers killers and make them pay. Until then, I will bide my time, study the Alliance’s tactics and strike when they least expect it. I would kill those beasts now if I could, but they will only grow older and grayer, while I will grow stronger and tougher, as the years pass, after all. It will make my task easier, I’m sure.
–Corkrok Wolfrunner
P.S. By the way, your shaman friend hasn’t helped matters any – that wretched green-eyed wolf is still at it, and my father still doesn’t know what’s causing his condition.
Oh Corkrok…
…all these flavors, and you just had to choose to be salty, didn’t you?
You know, I get the sense that you’ve got some weird read on me that’s making you think I’m AGAINST you going after the humans who killed your mother. Let’s clear this up — I get it, okay? The Alliance killed your mother — reason #87,403 to rid the world of them –and you want them dead. GOOD. Awesome. I’m all for it. I am 100% UTTERLY PRO DEAD HUMANS. Are we clear on this?
The only thing your father and I want to make sure of is that you’re fully prepared when the time comes for you to square off against them in battle. So guess what — that means WE ALL WANT THE SAME DAMN THING. So, to that end, I’m assigning you to Overlord Runthak’s trainee group. He’s one of our best warriors and no stranger to the Alliance tactics (pfft) that you seem so keen to study up on. You stick with him, and soon enough you’ll get your chance to have at the humans.
As for the “green-eyed wolf” — Golmash, if I remember right — I know it’s still a work in progress. I’ve been getting reports from Mokvar, who’s the “shaman friend” you mentioned… well, other than the fact that he’s really NOT a shaman, he just used to be, but then I guess I can’t really blame you for getting that mixed up because honestly, dude changes classes more often than ogres change underwear (i.e., more than once per lifetime). And, well, if we’re being totally real here, even the “friend” part is at least debatable. But still. Yeah. He’s been keeping me up to date on his research. We’ve got a couple possible leads, but it might not be a situation with a quick fix. More updates to follow on that one. Probably best to let your father and me and my, um, shaman warlock friend friend (?) oh fuck it whatever friend worry about this one for the time being. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, good luck with the om’riggor, and glad to see you finally coming to your senses about training. Well, sort of, at least. See above re: salty. But, you know, whatever gets the job done, right?
What strength or other quality do you wish you/the Horde could assimilate or appropriate from the Alliance or other factions/enemies.
Undying loyalty,
–Sintra E’Drien
I mean, if we’re talking about one side APPROPRIATING things from the other, you maybe want to go talk to the ALLIANCE about where they got that awesome idea to set up a Brawler’s Guild. Just sayin’. I mean, not for nothing, but nothing pisses me off more than people ripping off my ideas (with the possible exceptions of Magatha and Johnny Awesome and gnomes and humans and murlocs and people who sit there on their big-ass mounts blocking the mailbox because FUCK those people). Seriously, what’s next? How many more of my ideas are going to get ripped off by assholes? Is somebody going to steal the genius idea to travel back to the past that I had forever ago? Or WAS it forever ago? WHO’S TO SAY, because FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.
As for qualities I’D like to copy from the Alliance… um… hmm. Kind of drawing a blank here, to tell you the truth. The night elves and draenei both have massive lifespans, so I guess that would be pretty cool. Although the blood elves live a damned long time, too, because elves, and I suppose the Forsaken are pretty much immortal as long as nobody KILLS them kills them, because, you know, they already died once and who wants to do that shit again? But that means we’ve already got the super-duper lifespans covered in-house… So… nope. I got nothin’.
So… hmm… maybe I can take a look at some of the other factions out there and see if they have anything going for them…
Timbermaw Hold — I don’t have some quality that I’d want to gain from them, exactly, but I DO find it kinda cool how, due to some tribal technicality, they recognize the Warchief of the Horde — whoever that happens to be — as an Archbishop. True story. I have the funny hat to prove it.
The Keepers of Time — Don’t even get me started. Also, not for nothing, but why do we actually have the Keepers of Time, AND the Scale of the Sands, AND the Brood of Nozdormu? Aren’t they all pretty much the same thing? Or is this some kind of freaky time travel thing where they literally ARE the same thing but from overlapping timelines and they need to use different names to make sure they don’t cross the streams because timey whimey and OMG FUCKING TIME TRAVEL. HEAD HURTS.
The Argent Crusade — I would love to have their apparent ability to be around Tirion all day and somehow not feel an overpowering urge to KILL EVERYTHING EVER.
The Sons of Hodir — Okay, you know what? This isn’t a trait that the whole faction has, and for that matter, it’s not even something I would want to pass on to the entire Horde. It’s purely something about that Thorim dude that I’d like to grab up for myself. The guy does an absolutely KILLER Baine Bloodhoof voice. Annoys the living FUCK out of Baine. Always has. Just being REMINDED of Thorim gets Baine all grumbly. Next time you’re in Thunder Bluff, in fact, roll up on Baine and just go “IN THE MOUNTAINS!” in the best Thorim voice you can manage. Even if it’s not that good. Maybe even ESPECIALLY if it’s not that good. Just try it. Anyway, I bet it would be a fucking BLAST if I could do the voice like ol’ MC Hammer does.
Tushui Pandaren — Okay, so here we go. I knew if I mulled it over for long enough, I’d be able to come up with SOMEBODY from within the Alliance that had something going for them. So, here you go, Sintra, here’s something from an Alliance sub-faction that I’d like to emulate myself — a picture’s worth a thousand words:
Nuff said, motherfucker. Nuff said.
I understand that some of my past conduct may have accidentally agitated you, but I am writing to assure you of my resolve to make amends and offer my ongoing service!
As one of your followers informed you in your last mailbag (See? I am even a regular blog reader and fan. Not disuaded by all the bounty hunters you have sent after me!), I recently risked great bodily harm to make up for past mistakes and eliminate Magatha Grimtotem on your behalf!
Unfortunately she managed to get away. I know I must have hurt her a lot though! Those Face Melters pack a wallop, and I can only imagine they must do even more damage to the target than the user. Otherwise I may have made a very poor investment.
But as you can see, my loyalty has not wavered! Even after all the time I have needed to spend in hiding. And so I write to you now in hopes that my efforts with the Grimtotem crone will return me to your good graces.
The blade of Johnny Awesome awaits your bidding warchief!
Lock-tar ogre,
–Johnny Awesome, Felwood
So, a few points here.
First, for anyone who doesn’t remember… ugh, now I actually have to relive this shit again… I ran into this Johnny Awesome guy a couple years ago while Garona and I were working a case, and he was all looking for missions to make himself useful, and so, you know, I went into questgiver mode and sent him off to Thousand Needles to find some busywork for himself or maybe hopefully get himself killed. IF ONLY. And so OF COURSE it would JUST SO HAPPEN that the Twilight nutjob cult was holding Magatha PRISONER in Thousand Needles, and she duped ol’ Johnny Asshole into HELPING her, and then she went prancing off on her merry way and don’t even get me STARTED on the whole shitstorm she stirred up from THERE.
So, second, yeah, this is THAT Johnny Awesome.
Which leads us to THIRD AND FOURTH, holy fucking shit do I fucking HATE that guy, YES I DO.
Oh, and, FIFTH, he didn’t exactly help his cause by somehow managing to fuck up “Lok’tar ogar” while writing to THE GODDAMN WARCHIEF looking for forgiveness.
But, on the topic of your request there, Johnny, let me put it this way:
SIXTH — Look at that, people, HE JUST TOLD YOU HE’S IN FELWOOD. THE BOUNTY’S NOW UP TO TWO MILLION GOLD — GET OUT THERE, GET HUNTING, AND BRING ME THE HEAD OF JOHNNY MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME!
That’s all for this time. Keep sending those letters. But not before you head up to Felwood and lay some decapitating on ol’ Sparkle-Pony-Boy.
More soon.
[The Warchief’s next mailbag will be Monday, May 2. Send your questions, comments, or other missives to Garrosh via or email through the link in the upper right sidebar, or, as always, using the handy-dandy form below:]
