A sniffly Warchief is a cranky Warchief
So in all the scouting reports we got on Pandaria before coming down here, all the pages and pages of description of the peoples and cultures and flora and fauna, HERE’S a little tidbit that nobody knew until now: The flu germs they’ve got here will fucking put you on your ASS.
This Pandaren flu hit a bunch of us, yours truly included, out of nowhere a couple days ago, and let me tell you, HOLY CRAP is this shit not fun. It’s extremely hard to shout orders with authority when you burst into a hacking cough three words in, so I’ve been mostly staying in my quarters resting up, while Warlord Bloodhilt and General Nazgrim tend to most of the goings-on here at the base.
Ben-Lin Cloudstrider, who came with us for the trip, has been checking in on me, and right as soon as I started to come down with this thing, she used some of the crane meat that the trainees have been gathering to whip me up a big pot of this Pandaren wildfowl soup. Gotta say, as much as I think her whole anger management deal is way too touchy-feely for my tastes, Ben DOES kind of have a whole Greatmother vibe going. Which is mostly good, because hey, homemade soup brought right to me. Maybe not quite so great when I decide to try to come downstairs and tough my way through some work, and she goes all “YOU GET BACK TO BED AND REST UP RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN” on me. (“Yeah, but I—” “No buts! You’re sick and need your rest!” “Now hang on, I—” “DON’T MAKE ME GET OUT MY SERIOUS FACE!”)
So, yeah. Between the flu and the ongoing spotty internet down here, updates may be a little slower than usual the next few days. On the up side, that buys Gurtash a little extra time to finish up a project I’ve got him on. With any luck, you’ll hear more about that soon.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go hack up a lung and pass out.