Tag Archives: wyvern
Camp Taurajo
Just arrived at Desolation Hold. I’ll be meeting with Warlord Bloodhilt shortly, but first I need to take an hour or two for myself to let off some steam. It would have been really nice if this first inspection trip after Stonetalon could have gotten off to a good start, but then again I probably just have myself to blame this time.
I should have known better than to start off by going to the ruins of Camp Taurajo.
Of all the things that gall me about the humans, today reminds me of the one I hate the most: their arrogance. Their condescension. Their unrelenting, unmitigated, insufferable smug superiority. All wrapped up with their limitless, guiltless capacity to pat themselves on the back even while they stab you in yours. Worse than a whole race of rogues, they are.
They call us savages.
US.
Look around what’s left of that village and tell me who the savages are. Where is YOUR demon blood, humans? Who is YOUR Mannoroth? We orcs embraced a madness for a time, it’s true, and sold our souls for foolish, fleeting promises of power. What did you sell YOURS for? It looks like given half a chance, you couldn’t give them away fast enough.
And they call US the savages.
The sight of the burning buildings is nothing. It’s the smell of the burning bodies – smoking remains of tauren everywhere. You can’t escape that smell. I’m never going to a steak house again as long as I live. And even then I don’t know what’s worse, the ones that burned, or the ones I can still see – stretched out on the ground, clearly fleeing. Civilians. Children. Those who hung back trying to buy the others time. That’s what their flight master was doing. Omusa Thunderhorn – I knew him. Holding the line on the western edge of the village. His two wyverns fighting and falling beside him…it really is a trait they all share, isn’t it, that loyalty? Mortimer sat by the bodies for a while before I could get him to move. I’d never thought the beasts could grieve. Shows what I know.
There were human looters still lurking about when I arrived. Because there really is no final insult great enough for these humans, is there? They swarmed the place like ants. It seemed as if around every corner there were two more. I was supposed to be passing through to survey the site for just a few minutes. I ended up staying for over an hour, just to make sure there wasn’t a single one of the vermin left living. It’s a pity these humans die so easily, or I might have a feeling of satisfaction.
And then there’s the human behind all this. A general named Hawthorne. Horde agents tracked him down and slaughtered him for his crime – I don’t know whether to give them medals or resent them for depriving me of the chance to do it myself. But you know what? Just as well. Death was too good for him…death was a tiny fragment of what he deserved…death is what he got. A clean death, a quick death, a body returned to his people for whatever burial human custom requires.
And we’re the savages.
They’ll pay for this. I’ll tell you that much. There are whole generations of humans still unborn who will live to curse what’s happened here.
They have no idea what savagery is.
They will learn.
[Header image provided by regular reader and commenter Eravia, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Back to the inspection tour…
I’m going to be getting back to the next wave of inspection visits this week. First up I’ll be checking up on the Southern Barrens. I was getting reports that Warlord Gar’dul was putting out some heavy-duty fail out there (and seriously, could I make just ONE COMMAND APPOINTMENT these days without it blowing up in my face?), so I sent Warlord Bloodhilt to relieve him at Desolation Hold. Hopefully he’s getting things cleaned up out there.
After that I’m due for a couple stops in Desolace. Right now it looks like the plan is for me to make a stop in Mulgore on the way there from the Barrens, so I’m supposed to be having a meeting with Baine Bloodhoof while I’m in Thunder Bluff. Not really looking forward to that. It’s going to be the first time I’ve seen him since…well…you know. AWKWARD.
I need to check in with Eitrigg on a last couple matters, then I’ll be heading out as soon as Mortimer’s saddled up and the Kor’kron escort is ready to go. More updates soon.
Quoth the Druid
Once upon a late night dreary,
As I pondered, weak and weary
After many – far too many –
Gaming hours sealed off aloof,
While I nodded, nearly napping
Suddenly there came a tapping
Like an o’erhead wyvern crapping
Crapping pellets on my roof.
“That’s no shitting wyvern,” said I,
“Casting crap upon my roof.
That’s just knocking, stupid goof.”
Yeah, I know, that was retarded
To think my roof had been bombarded
By some incontinent wyvern
Doing business as he’d soar.
But, you see, I was so sleepy,
And exhaustion had me weepy,
And the tapping knocks were creepy –
Creepy tapping at my door
So my sleepy brain went places
Places never gone before
Anyway, yeah, it’s the door.
Then I strode so very bravely
To the door and bellowed gravely,
“What the fuck, dude, have you never
Ever used your brain before?
Never mind the creepy tapping –
Shades of sounds of wyverns crapping –
Yeah, forget it – just recapping
How you knocked upon my door.
Never mind your oddball rapping
Freaked me out – I should be napping,
Having dreams of BG capping
(Just provided rogues aren’t sapping)
And of human spinal snapping,
Not to mention big game trapping,
To the wagon, carcass strapping,
Mount the head with hunters clapping,
Then I’ll do some vendor slapping,
Winter’s Veil and present wrapping,
Hear the sounds of brown wings flapping,
Shit, I’m back to wyverns crapping!
Fuck it! This whole part I’m scrapping.
(Yeah, I really need some napping.)
But, the knocking on my door:
Dude, the time – it’s half past four.
Look, I don’t know where you grew up,
Or what mess you’re here to brew up,
But I’ll tell you, dammit, this is
Not the hour to just drop by.
Wrists are sore and eyes are stinging,
Just two bubbles short of dinging,
So, believe me, you are clinging
To your last hope ere you die.
So what business are you bringing?”
Here no sound save crickets singing.
Silence. What’s the deal? Stand by.
“Listen up, dude, I’ve had enough.
Take a hike, and use a haste buff.
Otherwise, it’s late, so tell me
What you came here to discuss.
By all rights I should be sleeping,
But the weird hours that I’m keeping
Have saved you a heap of weeping
When you came to start a fuss.”
And at that, heroic leaping,
Flung the door wide open thus:
Holy fuck! Lather-on-us!
Just a moment was he standing,
Posture stern and face demanding,
And he said, “Hellscream, the wrath
Of DEHTA now shall you incur!”
That one really made me chuckle,
Then a feast of sandwich-knuckle
Flew at him – his knees did buckle
As in air he formed a blur.
All around my chamber flying
When by rights he should be dying!
All my grabs and swings defying
As my rage he dared to stir.
“What the fuck’s your problem!” crying
Out I chased the blasted cur.
Quoth the druid: “Mortimer.”
“Fucking bird!” I screamed as he fled.
“Fucking bird!” He pecked at my head
As he fluttered round the rafters
In the room – annoying, sure.
Swooping ’round, he did not tire.
“Fucking bird!” He hovered higher,
Just beyond my grasp entire,
On and on this did recur.
“Fucking bird!” (At least not fire.)
Flying feathered saboteur.
Quoth the druid: “Mortimer.”
“Yeah, but what about him, bastard?”
Flying nuisance flying faster.
“Fucking bird!” He dipped and dove
And pricked my side as if a burr.
Driven out onto the rampart,
“Fucking bird!” The pricks did restart.
Even though I got a head start
He was on my ass, yes sir.
Driven back into the railing,
Tired and drained, my strength was failing,
Hopelessly my weapon flailing –
Not the fate I would prefer.
“Fucking bird!” I kept on howling.
Then above there came a growling
As of some winged creature prowling,
Swooping down with claw and fur.
’Tis some diving bat or owling
Racing near as if a blur.
Eyes deceive me! Mortimer!
Lather-on-us squawked delighted,
With his ally reunited –
But his joy was quite shortsighted:
Not quite truth did he infer!
For the wyvern’s swooping anger
Loosed afresh from Kor’kron hangar
Was unleashed with piercing fang, er,
Fangs, I mean. (That’s plural, dur.)
And the druid’s damned demented
Diving dusky beak was dented
And his cries grew discontented
As a beating did occur.
Flapping wings of flutt’ring feathers
Slapped around by wyvern leather
As if saying, “Garrosh? Never!
You shall take your leave now, sir!”
Thought he had me? Yeah, whatever.
Some bad news I must confer.
Now go get ’im, Mortimer!
Now the druid’s stitched up, resting,
While my wyvern’s upstairs nesting,
In the attic pen I’d crafted
Where he makes contented purr.
Banes and bombs and birds fate may send,
Kor’kron guards may help to defend,
But above all, you can depend
On what nothing will deter.
Dog may be the human’s best friend –
For the orc? That’s Mortimer.
Off flight duty, that’s for sure.
EPIC VERSE!
Thal’darah Grove
Quick update – writing this from Orgrimmar.
Thal’darah Grove was a graveyard when I got there. No weapon of mass destruction, no armaments of any kind. Night elves and tauren bodies everywhere, apparently druids, many of them scary young. Way too familiar for my liking.
Only had time for a quick survey of the place before a goblin balloon carrying some kind of bomb came floating in. Frankly I was too distracted by one of the tauren corpses to even notice. Orthus Cliffwalker, the chieftain’s son – Cairne Bloodhoof introduced him to me my first day as Warchief, I’d recognize him anywhere. I probably wouldn’t have even gotten out before the balloon released its payload, but my wyvern was circling around and swooped in to grab me before the bomb fell. By that point Kor’kron backup was arriving in the surrounding Battlescar Valley, and once the wyvern dropped me off with them, the troll support mage ported us out to Orgrimmar.
Porting back out again momentarily, to Cliffwalker Post. Already a shitty day. It’s only getting shittier.
Visiting Stonetalon
I’m finally getting around to my next string of inspection visits. This time I’m making a tour through our operations in Stonetalon Mountains. When we started stepping up in the area after the cataclysm, I promoted General Krom’gar to Overlord and put him in charge of our forces there. This is going to be the first time I’ve seen him since then, so I’m looking forward to sitting down and going over our GLORIOUS PROGRESS.
Krom’gar and I go way back, in fact. I knew him in Garadar – matter of fact, he was one of the guys really taking up the slack on some of the ogre problems when I was going through my mopey phase. Later on when Thrall sent me to Northrend, I brought Krom’gar along. He served in Dragonblight under Dranosh Saurfang, and ended up being one of the handful of Horde survivors at the Wrathgate. Just barely, but yeah. Eventually I lobbied to have him promoted to general – the Horde could use more soldiers like him, Nagrand-born orcs who remember their roots and honor the old ways, and haven’t been softened by living all their lives in Azeroth. It’s going to be good to see him. Thrall left me with a lot of advisors, and I’ve tried to listen to them, but it’s men like Krom’gar that I feel like I can really depend on to set an example for what we Horde can be.
My first stop was Malaka’jin, just to pick up some supplies and give my wyvern a break. Talked to Witch Doctor Jin’Zil while I was there. (And by the way, right there, that’s another example of why these trolls make no damn sense – you can’t have a fucking conversation with any of them without them telling you to stay away from the voodoo, and who do they have running the show? Fucking witch doctor. Good job staying away from the fucking voodoo, how about you stop reminding everybody else about it until you can TAKE YOUR OWN DAMN ADVICE.) Anyway, he turned out to be about as much use as any of these other trolls. He kept telling me about some Queen Silith that would be excited to meet me – and okay, granted, who can blame her? – and so I figured she must be some kind of troll royalty, and I should probably try to be a LITTLE diplomatic (UGH), so I headed over to this Wedwinder Hollow place where he said she was staying.
So yeah, turns out, Queen Silith was a GIANT FUCKING SPIDER. Surrounded by about a kazillion other smaller-but-still-way-bigger-than-they-ought-to-be spiders. Just WANDERING AROUND in the woods, like for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t that thing be crawling around in some cavern in the Burning Steppes or something? And where the fuck did Jin’Zil get the idea that she would want to meet me?! More important, WHY WOULD JIN’ZIL THINK I WANT TO FUCKING MEET HER? I HATE spiders! They’re just crawly and nasty and gross and they have WAY more legs and eyes combined than any self-respecting person should have and no I DON’T want to meet up with one for tea. What the fuck is WRONG with people?
No surprise, Jin’Zil was off somewhere when I got back, but I’ll have to track him down about this. Send him a memo about it, by which I mean, y’know, fucking SLAP HIM AROUND A FEW TIMES. Anyway, my wyvern’s ready to go again so I’m heading over to Sun Rock Retreat next. I’ll try to write more from there.
Monday mailbag
Well, I asked for questions, and you all obliged! Let’s have a look at some of this week’s mailbag – actual letters from actual readers!
Me a peon who read your blog. Me like reading words of my great warchief! And now you ask to hear from peons like myself? This what makes warchiefs Garrosh and Thrall great leaders! Me thank you.
You ask for questions from peons. Me have a question me want to ask, but was too scared. Me ask it now though. What happened to your head? When you went to Northrend it look like any other orc head, now it look like your head too small or your jaw too big. Me think you wounded in glorious battle, but never heard story of how.
Also me would like nap break in afternoon but overseer beat me and make work more. Me can has nap break?
–A Tired Peon
First of all, someone remind me to up the Razor Hill education budget next year, before we get another generation of peons grimlocking their way through writing a letter.
Second of all, ATP, the head thing. Yeah, I know. Don’t think I don’t notice the way people stare at me when they drop by Grommash Hold – and for realsies, you’re not fooling anyone, people. Acting like you’re staring in another direction and then glancing over when you think I’m not going to see? Totally not working. So I guess I might as well answer this once and for all.
So I’d like to say this was from some epic battle in Northrend, like me squaring off with Arthas, or even Anub’arak, and maybe having him unleash one of those swarms of locusts on me and they buzzed all over me and crushed my head down or some shit like that. But the truth of the matter is, it wasn’t anything that exciting.
Those of you who were up there in Northrend with me will remember my last operation was at Light’s Hammer just inside the gates of Icecrown Citadel. You might also remember that I spent most of that time hanging out there with Tirion Fordring. Who I’d already had my fill of, by the way, when I went to meet him with Thrall at his stupid-ass tournament place. (Like seriously, isn’t ONE pansy-ass traveling fair enough for the world?) So hopefully you people were all too busy forging your way into the citadel and fighting our enemies like the Horde soldiers that you are…but meanwhile I was stuck back there with Tirion…who pretty much had nothing to do for a good long time but talk. And talk.
On.
And on.
And on.
Like really, do you have ANY idea how blabby he is? The preachiness was bad enough, having to sit there and listen to his EIGHT MILLION AND SEVEN spontaneous sermons to no one in particular about the power of the Light and the need to work together against a common foe, and blah blah blah. But then he started going on for hours on end about his crazy uncle Lucius who used to live down the block from Andorhal, and thought he was King Llane, and caught Deadeye burning down a dwarf settlement in Loch Modan and forced him to retreat by beating him at Parcheesi, until he finally went off the deep end and painted himself blue and spent all his time running around Tirisfal Glades naked chasing bats with a wooden spatula, until the Kirin Tor snapped him up and locked up away in some padded room in Dalaran just to keep him out of trouble for his own good, and now Tirion feels like my day just won’t be complete until he tells me what kind of marmalade he liked to put on his toast in the morning, and I just couldn’t fucking TAKE it anymore.
So I just clamped my hands down over my ears as tight as I could and hummed real loud, and I guess I didn’t know my own strength and got carried away, because the next thing you know I’ve managed to squeeze my own fucking head down a couple helmet sizes. So good job there, me. Fucking Tirion.
Of course I suppose two years of Noggenfogger shampoo didn’t help matters, but that’s a whole other thing.
Speaking of not knowing my own strength…
I’m a warrior in the service of the Horde. I do pretty well on the battlefield, but I feel as though I can do much better. Could you tell me how you became so incredibly strong? Do you have a workout regiment, or did you acquire your amazing might through constantly crushing the enemies of the Horde under your boot?
–Revga, Orgrimmar
All of the above, Revga, all of the above. There’s really no substitute for beating the living shit out of real, live foes. For one thing, you never know what they’re going to try next, so it keeps you on your toes. Plus, you can really push yourself if you can find some real grade-A enemies to take on. Here’s where I think I might have an unfair advantage over a lot of guys, since I grew up in Nagrand. While some of the Horde here in Azeroth get started killing boars and wolves and bats, I got to get my exercise fighting hand to hand with giant fucking gronn and whole villages of ogres.
Besides that, I do have a workout routine that works pretty well for me. First thing in the morning I run a hundred laps around Grommash Hold. While I’m going around I get some extra arm exercise in by slapping the fuck out of all the pansy-ass vendors just standing around doing nothing. Especially Ray’ma, because trolls sound extra funny when you slap them around. Then I drop by the meat vendor (once she’s regained consciousness) and pick up eight pounds of roast boar for my breakfast. Gotta maintain your strength, and the protein’s good for muscle, you know.
After that I jog up by the rear gate of Orgrimmar where we keep all the siege engines, find one that looks pretty stable, and bench press it. Nothing too major, just a couple hundred reps. Then I head over to the arena and spar with some of my Kor’kron personal guards for a couple hours. The ones that live get to keep their jobs.
By that point most days it’s around lunch time, so I put Gorehowl away, hop on a wyvern (MAYBE I’LL TAKE MORTIMER THIS TIME, DEHTA BITCHES – THAT’S RIGHT, I FOUND HIM!), and fly down to Un’goro Crater…taking the scenic route up through Hyjal and Felwood then down around Silithus and through Uldum, of course (BECAUSE MORTIMER NEEDS HIS FUCKING EXERCISE TOO). When I get there I find a couple devilsaurs, beat them to death with my bare hands, drag them over to Fire Plume Ridge, and hold them over the lava till they get a good sear. Then it’s lunch time. When I’m done I head over to the eastern cliff face to get some rock climbing in, and scale my way up into Tanaris. From that point I jog over to the shore and usually drop by the Caverns of Time, or as I like to call them, the Caverns of Did I Beat My Best Time. Right now I’m sitting on 34 seconds. BEAT IT IF YOU CAN. If you don’t believe me, just take it up with Anachronos, he’s usually the one holding the stopwatch, even if it’s kind of a funky-looking melty one. Anyway, from there I jog on over to the shore and get in my afternoon swim. Which in my case means I swim from Tanaris right on back up to Durotar.
So I know what you’re thinking at this point: Wait, Garrosh, you just said you had lunch a little while before this, plus it was devilsaur, and we all know how heavy that can be – isn’t it bad for you to go swimming a short time after you’ve eaten? And the answer is yes, yes it is….IF YOU’RE A GODDAMN FUCKING PANSY.
Once I make it back to Orgrimmar, it’s usually time for afternoon tea.
At that point I usually have some Warchief crap I have to take care of, so that’s about it for the workout. As you can tell, being this awesome is a full-time job. You don’t just get a body like mine for nothing. And speaking of taking an interest in my body…
Heyyyy mighty Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, you don’t know me I’m your biggest fan EVAH!!!
And I’m an orc, and a gal, so please answer me… what color panties do you prefer in a woman? *hint hint nudge nudge*
Your faithful fan & minion
–Uukra the Hallowed
You know, you’d be surprised how often I get questions like this. Like seriously, if it was ANYTHING like this for Thrall, I don’t know why the hell he would want to get married.
So, Uukra, to answer you. When you come right down to it, I’m basically a soldier at heart, so I’m going to put this to you in military terms. One word: commando. 😉
I mean, I know that’s how I roll.
Yes, you read that right. Soak up THAT mental image. You’re welcome.
Since you mentioned Jaina Proudmoore in your post about Thrall’s wedding, and I figure you must be in the know, I just have to ask about those two. You know what I’m talking about. Did Thrall ever, um, you know?
–Grimgore, Orgrimmar
Jaina? Oh, geez, dude, who HASN’T?
Other than Lor’themar. Obvious reasons.
That’s it for this week, but keep those letters and questions coming! YOUR WARCHIEF DEMANDS THEM!
Visiting Zoram’gar
So just to finish up with the Ashenvale inspection visits, since I didn’t get around to talking about the last part of the trip the last few days.
Oh and by the way, one last thing about Hellscream’s Watch, all things considered I’m pretty happy with how things are going, what with the blowing shit up and night elves on fire and all that, even if we were stuck with a few lazy-ass wyverns who BELIEVE YOU ME will be getting toughened right up (HOW’S THE VIEW OF AHN’QIRAJ FROM ABOVE, STUPID WYVERN?), but okay, really, how is it possible that one of the major obstacles out there is the fucking BEAR PEOPLE? I was talking to Karang and he went on this whole thing about how our advance through the area was being blocked by…the Thistlefur? Seriously? We’re blowing the fuck out of the centuries-old settlement that the night elves are fortifying and gearing with state-of-the-art armaments…and we’re having to recruit people to go help us deal with the fucking THISTLEFUR? Broyk pointed out how she couldn’t understand how the might of the Horde was being stopped by a bunch of fucking jumbo-sized Ewoks, and I would totally agree if I knew what the fuck an Ewok was.
Anyway, moving on.
Things seem to be coming along pretty well at Zoram’gar Outpost. I’m a little concerned that the construction effort is stalling some – seems like some of the buildings there have been mid-construction for several months now, but I’m not going to complain too much yet, since come to think of it they’ve really been taking their sweet time finishing some of the ramparts here in Orgrimmar too. Damn union work stoppages. This is what happens when you let goblins get involved. Anyway, it’s sure as hell still a major improvement over what we had there before. Really, a Horde outpost made up of nothing but a couple huts and a campfire? Seriously? What are we, the fucking Orc Scouts?
Commander Grimfang (second cousin to Saurfang, by the way) seems to be running a pretty tight operation, so I’ll be looking forward to seeing how things shape up once construction is done. Hopefully we can get the place up and running as another major port city so we don’t have to rely as much on the goblins over at Ratchet.
Made a short stop over at Silverwind Refuge on the way back to Orgrimmar to meet with Captain Tarkan. Good man, will have to keep him in mind for future operations. Also got to talking with a couple soldiers there, Sergeant Dontrag and Scout Utvoch, who both seemed very eager to start going to town on some Alliance. Since it looks like we’ve got Astranaar pretty well under control, I sent them on ahead to Stonetalon to see if they can help the effort there a bit. Told them to pass word on to Overlord Krom’gar to keep up the good work, and I’ll be by to check in on things when I can.
[Header image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Visiting Ashenvale
The inspection visits to Ashenvale have been a mixed bag so far.
On the plus side, we’re bombing the shit out of Astranaar, and watching stuff blow up is always fun. I even got to ride a wyvern and drop a few bombs myself, which let me tell you, was fun as all fuck. I went around three times – BOOM! I wanted to do more, but apparently the fucking wyvern was getting tired, so I had my guards beat it and tell it to quit being a such a pussy. Then I reassigned it to flight point duty and put it on the Winterspring-to-Silithus round trip. THAT SHOULD TOUGHEN IT UP. (Shit, this is going to get the DEHTA fuckers going again, isn’t it?)
I wanted to have them blow something up while I as there and then have Mokvar draw me walking away looking all unimpressed, because you look way cooler when you don’t even bother looking at an explosion, but Mokvar said he couldn’t draw, which was really fucking inconvenient, so I sent him back to Orgrimmar and told him to start milling inks and not leave until he’d gotten trained up. I’m not going to have lackeys riding around with me who can’t be bothered maxing up the necessary skills. LIKE HE HAS ANYTHING MORE IMPORTANT TO DO THESE DAYS.
On the down side, what the FUCK is going on with Splintertree Post? We used to have a pretty secure holding, and now we’re under siege by a bunch of fucking giant orange TREES? The hell?! Dammit, I’m all for advancing the battle onto fronts like Astranaar, but that doesn’t mean you get so preoccupied you let the stupid elves roll up on your original base! Oh and never mind the whole Durak business – yeah, let’s let the demons who nearly destroyed our whole race PLANT ONE OF THEIR OWN RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR OUTPOST. Who the fuck is in charge out there anyway? They always say incompetence starts at the top…
By the way, I never thought I’d say this, but going around in these night elf forests is starting to make me think maybe the blood elves are actually the tough side of the family. I mean, yeah, they’re scrawny and prance around way too much for my liking – trust me, I know, the last thing Thrall did before skipping town was stick me with a whole delegation of them hanging out right in my fucking throne room, and don’t think for one minute that Thrall didn’t laugh his ass off all the way to the Maelstrom over that one – and yeah, the whole sunshiny enchanted woods they have in Eversong isn’t helping matters. But shit, look around this place, and it’s like these night elves felt the need to fucking dip everything in glitter.
I still need to check in at the new fortifications at Zoram’gar, but first I need to make one side trip. More later.
[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!]
