Monday mailbag

I arrived a couple days ago here at the Sanctum of Two Moons, and I’ve been getting settled in and learning the lay of the land since then.  While we have a little break in the action, I figured this might be a good time to dip into the ol’ mailbag…

 

To Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde:

Call off the search patrols!  I’m ok!

I know everyone must have been sick with worry the last few months since my sudden disappearance, (my colleagues up in Northrend must have been particularly disturbed by my absence); however, I can reassure you all that I am finally safe and sound.

Where have I been, you might ask?  Ah, friend, that is a tale indeed!  A tale of wonder and adventure!  I was swimming with the Orca folk in the northern oceans and discovered a new shape-shifting technique that permitted me to assume the very form of a noble whale person myself.  Wearing my new visage, I was able to communicate with them in their own language — a very melodious tongue with beautiful but complex rules of grammar — and became assimilated into their culture.

Engrossed in my cetacean studies, I lost track of time and eventually track of my own self.  I forgot my previous life as a Night Elf and the thought of living on land became as alien to me as the thought of drinking fire would be to any but a fire elemental.  I lived as a whale; I laughed as a whale; I loved as a whale; and finally I migrated south with the rest of my pod.

O! What a journey that was!  The tales I could tell of the fantastical denizens of the deep!  But alas!  I have not the space here to elaborate further.  (Look for my upcoming book on my experiences, working title: “Darling it’s Better Down Where it’s Wetter”.)

But all good things must come to an end.  There was an enormous storm, the violence of which penetrated even the depths of the sea.  I was separated from my pod and flung about at the mercy of the waves.  At last I was washed up on dry land and lay helplessly beached, drying out in the sun.  I looked death in the eye that day and all hope left me.  At last I fell unconscious and lay senseless on the shore.

When I came to I was surrounded by curious creatures.  They looked like some sort of Furbolg, but were covered with black and white fur from head to toe and called themselves “Pandaren”.  They clothed me and helped me to my feet, at which point I realized that I was a Night Elf again.  All my memories came flooding back.  I was my full self once more.

I spent a few days in the care of these kind Pandaren.  They told me many fascinating stories about this previously unknown land and informed me that many other peoples from both the Horde and the Alliance had recently arrived and made contact with them.  And so I am writing you this missive to allay your fears about my welfare.

Also, could you please lend me a small amount of gold and arrange transportation for me back to Northrend?  I seem to have misplaced all my possessions.  Thanks.

–Arch Druid Lathorius, D.E.H.T.A.

Huh.  Okay, so…I’m going to set aside the fact that Lather-on-us here seems to think he and I are buddies or something, because hey, as long as he thinks I can stand the sight of him, maybe that helps tone down the whining and complaining and protesting every time I try to eat a ham on rye.

So setting that aside…  Dude, you were missing?  Was I supposed to notice that shit?

Actually, come to think of it, you WERE all AWOL that time I went to check in with your DEHTA flunkies, weren’t you?  But man, that was AGES ago – were you seriously out mucking around with the fishes all that time?

Still, funny that you would wind up landing in the same place that everyone else has been converging on lately.  Especially since it’s the same place that was hidden and cloaked in mists and totally unreachable and inaccessible to anyone for every and ever for like thousands of years until everybody and their uncle started winding up there like a month ago.  I would say it’s what all the cool kids are doing, but, you know, that doesn’t really help explain YOU being here.  Or Varian.  Or…well, pretty much anyone other than me.  But whatever.  OH HEY, actually, you know one other cool kid who HAS turned up here in Pandaria?  Hemet Nesingwary!  You know him, right?  Small world.

As for the gold… Yeah, um, I think you’re gonna need to scrape together cab fare for yourself.  I gave at the office.  Maybe see if you can do some busywork for the Anglers in exchange for a little pocket change?

 

Warchief!

I’m guessing your blog has been lagging behind while you venture into Pandaria.  I recently encountered you in the Shrine of Two Moons during your visit.  Unfortunately, I was under the influence of a Blingtron 4000, and looked like a human instead of a proud Horde member.  See the attached photos for how poorly this went for me.

Enjoy the rest of your trip!

–WookieeBH

Yeesh, dude, what’s up with the “lagging behind” shit, I only just got here a couple days ago.  I do remember you, though, Wookiee – among the many random asshats who swung by to make my day more tedious, you and your little getup were especially asshattery.  Although I did kind of get a chuckle out of it when your dog or hyena or whatever took a dump on Malkorok’s boots.  Dude gets so grumpy about things.  Heh.

Anyway, as you can see from the pictures, I’ve been hanging out at the Sanctum of Two Moons for the past couple days, which let me tell you is a pretty boss place.  Unfortunately, I only had a couple hours to enjoy it before I was joined by – as you can also see from the pictures – our old friend Regent-Lord Hair-Care.  Whose mood, by the way, hasn’t improved much lately.  Only, get this – in light of some of the slapping-around I’ve had to give him lately, now he feels the need to bring company everywhere he goes:

This would be Ellendra Palescorn…his bodyguard.

Yes, his bodyguard.

I swear, only among the blood elves would it go over as a plan to be like, “You know, I really need someone to help keep my scrawny, twiggy ass safe”…and then hire someone scrawnier and twiggier.

Thank goodness they’re good at magic, is all I’m gonna say.

 

Hey mon,

I still can’t believe Vol’jin be dead, mon!  But I betcha he always gonna he wit us in spirit.  I can practically feel his spirit wit me now, mon – it’s almost like he be right here writin’ dis letter wit me!

I know ya got ya Kor’kron people down here in de Echo Isles ta keep us safe, mon, but I don’ be likin’ dis Gul’tar guy dey got in charge.  I’m tellin’ ya, sometin’ bad gonna happen wit day guy!  If ya be askin’ me, I tink ya betta keep a close eye on what he goin’ on down here.  Wouldn’t want sometin’ slippin’ between da cracks, ya know, mon?

–Bob, Echo Isles

Oh, great, this guy again.  And so of course, just as soon as I get ONE grumbling troll out of my hair, ANOTHER one pops up to take his place.  Almost like Vol’jin isn’t gone at all, indeed.

Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve mentioned that before, so just in case you’ve been living under a rock the last couple weeks…you remember that mission I’d sent Vol’jin on when he first got to Pandaria?  Yeah.  Didn’t go so well for him.  Boo hoo.  Moving on.

So anyway, Bobbo, sorry if you don’t like the cut of Gul’tar’s jib, whatever a jib is, but you know what?  I’m not going to waste my time trying to micromanage every move my people make down there.  If Gul’tar needs anything, I’m pretty certain he’ll let me know, and if anything important is going on there, I’m damn sure they’ll send word to me about it.  So until I hear something from them, I’ll be keeping my nose out of the goings-on down in the Echo Isles, which is a good thing what with the smell down there because WTF are you trolls burning all the time anyway?

 

(the parchment appears to have been chewed on a bit on one corner and has a few smears of dark mud at the bottom)

Hail Warchief!

I am writing to you to apply for the position of scribe. I have been taught in the very best tents of Thunder Bluff. I am a tauren, albeit a bit small, and that wet dog smell is a condition I have. Some say I appear to be wearing a badly made tauren suit, but that’s hurtful because I got these stitches in service to the Horde! I wish to put my skills to use serving my Warchief! I feel that I would be best suited for this position given my extensive linguistic skills and utter loyalty. After all, you can’t be too careful these days. There could be Alliance spies anywhere. As a professional tracker I could help with this also. Afterall, it’d be ashamed if anything….happened. I hope my Warchief finds me worthy of being right by his side.

–Legit Tauren Scribe

Hey, LTS, thanks for writing in.  I’m glad people are still showing interest in the scribe position after that…erm…mixed-results audition thing.  Right now I think I’m going to see how things work out with Gurtash covering the scribing, in his own doodly sort of way, but I’ll definitely keep you in line.  It wouldn’t hurt at all to have a couple competent backup options, in case the kid gets too busy with other assignments or what-have-you.  That said, with any luck it won’t be too long before Mokvar’s back on the job, assuming we can get his weird-ass marked-for-death situation under wraps sometime soon.

 

To Garrosh:

Reporting in re: your special assignment.  As per your request, have been maintaining stealthed surveillance on Mokvar in order to provide additional protection in light of recent attacks.

Have come across unexpected complications.

While in Winterspring with his panda friend, Mokvar was seen meeting with an unidentified human woman.  The two seemed very familiar; shortly thereafter embarked together on journey to Darkwhisper Gorge.  Seen scouring cave formerly occupied by now-deceased imp,  Appeared to be searching for something; overheard references to relic of some kind, demonic power, domination of wills.

Will continue to monitor Mokvar’s activities and continue protection against attackers until further instructions received.

–Garona Halforcen, Everlook

The…FUCK?

So hang on, I worry about Mokvar’s safety to the point that I assign one of the best rogues in the business to follow his ass around and look out for him while I’m away…and THIS is what I get for it?  Meeting up with some HUMAN?  Sneaking around trying to do spirits know WHAT?

Yeah, this…this is NOT going to be good for my mood, let me tell you that right now.

In fact, I think on that note it’s time for me to step away from the computer for a few.  And possibly go smack someone or something around for a little while.

More 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!

Monday mailbag

Running a little late today, I know, but here’s a few of this week’s letters…

 

Dearest Warchief,

I hope this missive finds you well.  Your delightful and inspiring blog was recently brought to my attention, and I felt compelled to write to express my deepest appreciation.  I can see now why Thrall so wisely saw fit to appoint you as his successor.  With such a keen intellect at the helm, I have little doubt that we shall prevail against our foes.

I am particularly touched by your recent comments on my defense of Silvermoon.  While I am saddened to see that you still harbor reservations about my loyalty and commitment, I can assure you that the good of the Horde is forefront in my thoughts, and further assure – nay, stress – that no further…shall we say…indiscretions are forthcoming.  I cannot, in fact, emphasize this point enough.  There is truly nothing for you to concern yourself with, and, as such, I can further assure you that there is no need for you to waste valuable time checking up on the goings-on in, say, Silverpine Forest or Gilneas.  With so many Horde outposts in need of your sage attention, it would pain me to know that we Forsaken were needlessly occupying your valuable time.  So, once again, no need to visit Silverpine.  Really.  Don’t you worry your dear, most interestingly proportioned head over it.

Also, loathe though I am to impose upon the Warchief’s attention, might I request, at your next opportunity, that you have a word or two with the most honorable Captain Bloodfist, of the Kor’kron detachment generously assigned to aid in the defense of my beloved Undercity?  Skillful military tactician though I’m sure he is, I cannot help but notice over these past several months that he persists in…looking at me.  In…ways that are starting to make me feel rather uncomfortable.

–Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Undercity

Oh crap, I think I’m about to have more forms to fill out.

Although…I mean, seriously, do you ever look at the way you dress?

Anyway.  It’s nice to see Sylvanas coming around a little.  Like I said a couple weeks ago, I really did have my doubts about her, but it really seems like she’s pulling herself together these days.  Nice to know I don’t have to worry too much about her, it’s not like I don’t have enough on my mind already these days.

 

Hail to ye, Garrosh!

HAHAHA!  That’s it, laddy, put them DEHTA pantywaists in their place!  Ye know, they keep tellin’ all their recruits they’re me archenemy.  At least that’s what they say – I haven’t seen ’em dare come near me themselves!  But at least they talk a good game.  Ye notice, though, they keep tryin’ to recruit people to run errands for them, but they still only have six members, so good on ye, lads, fine job retainin’ yer recruits!

If any of ye DEHTA types are readin’ this, I’ll raise me stein and have a drink to yer health…and use it to wash down the goodly feast of assorted Northrend meats I went out and killed fresh today!  Ye know where to find me if ye ever grow a pair!

–Hemet Nesingwary, Sholazar Basin

I don’t really have a lot to say here.  This just made me happy!  Good to hear from you, Hemet, it’s been a while!  For anyone who doesn’t know, Hemet used to hang out in Nagrand, so I used to go hunting with him sometimes.  Hey Hemet, remember that time we were hunting Banthar, and that damn Durn the Hungerer came sneaking up behind us?  Like how does he DO that anyway?  How does a 50 foot tall giant gronn just SNEAK UP on you like that??

 

To Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde:

Seriously?  Clefthoof stew?  And not only ENCOURAGING people to eat clefthoof stew, when there are many far healthier, less murder-requiring dietary options available, but GLORYING in your choice to make such food out of a CRUELLY BETRAYED friend and companion of your childhood?

You really are determined to evoke the wrath of D.E.H.T.A., aren’t you?

–Arch Druid Lathorius, D.E.H.T.A.

Oh no.  THE WRATH OF DEHTA!  WHAT-EVER WILL I DO.  Hey, news flash, Lather-on-us, the whole time I was up there in Northrend, there was only one person whose “wrath” I ever concerned myself with at all, and guess what, it wasn’t you, or any of your whiney druid friends.

I already wasted enough time on you guys last week, but looks like Hemet might have a few choice words for you.  YOU REMEMBER HIM, RIGHT?  THE ARCHENEMY you guys were going to PUT IN HIS PLACE, and you sure as hell did, provided by “in his place” you meant “at the dinner table, feasting on a spread of barbequed, stewed, and roasted shoveltusk, wooly rhino, mammoth, and worg.”  Yum!

 

Hey mon,

I know you be tinkin’ I be supportin’ you as my replacement as Warchief, but I really only gave ya da job to prove to you an’ everybody what a failure you’d be at it.  Ever since you came to Orgrimmar you been actin’ like you be knowin’ how to run tings better dan me, so I figured I be givin’ you enough rope to hang yourself.  Not to mention dis way when I come back everybody will be so happy to be rid of you dat dey’ll tink I’m even more of a hero.  Like seriously mon, you got no idea how much all de other leaders be missin’ me.  After you, all I’ll have to do is walk in a straight line without droolin’ on meself an’ it’ll be an improvement, mon. P.S. You smell.

–Bob Trall, Echo Isles

WHAT!!! OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE THRALL WOULD SAY THAT WTF!!!!  And WTF is he doing in the Echo Isles I thought he was supposed to be in the Maelstrom or Mount Hyjal or wherever the fuck he is that’s not here!!!

AND I DO NOT SMELL WTF!!!

Monday mailbag

So let’s see what the mail has for us this week…

 

Hey mon,

Not only is King Mrgl-Mrgl of the Winterfin murlocs a dangerous radical, but I be hearin’ he not even be a native-born Winterfin!  And he be rulin’ da Winterfin!  Join our movement to demand he be releasin’ his birth records!  Demand da trut’, mon!

–Bob, Echo Isles

OMG I KNEW SOMETHING DIDN’T ADD UP ABOUT THAT GUY!!!  I remember running into him when I was still stationed out in the Borean Tundra.  He was always dropping by asking if we had any soy burgers, whatever the hell that was.  I was like, dude, why can’t you just eat fish and stuff like the other murlocs, and he got all huffy and gave me attitude.  So I slapped him around a little and send him home.  Still, he was just weird, you know?  Like with most murlocs you’d be lucky to get anything out of them other than “burglemurgleflurglegurglecrap,” and this fucker’s blabbering on about “indigenous” and “ecosystems” and shit.  And fuck, if I have to listen to crap that I don’t know what it means, at least let it be crap that doesn’t make me feel fucking stupid on top of it all.

So, yeah, Bob, I think you might be on to something about the fucker.  Where do you figure murlocs keep records like that?  Probably some little island somewhere where they’re gonna fucking stonewall us on getting the forms released, just you watch. Fucking murloc spin operation.

 

To Warchief Hellscream:

As your loyal emissaries, to wit, etc., it is our honor to report our arrival as per your instructions in Stonetalon Mountains, Krom’gar Fortress et al.  Overlord Krom’gar is pleased to hear of word that notice has been sent of your commandership’s pending visit, we are sure Your Warchiefness will be impressed by the inconceivable might of the forces amassed heretofore as per your indulgency.  It is most hoped that Your Hellscreamingestness will pardon the crudeness of our missiving as we are but humble orcs, but Utvoch has been taking an extension course in diplomatic writing so we hope we’ve been able to shape our note into inconceivable due reverentness.

–Sgt. Dontrag and Scout Utvoch, Stonetalon Mountains

Okay, first of all, I don’t think that word means what you think it means, but whatever.  Second, I don’t know who’s teaching this class Utvoch is taking, but whoever it is I’m thinking you need to tone it way way way the fuck DOWN, okay?  Like seriously.  HEAD HURTS.  But anyway, I’m glad things are shaping up in Stonetalon.  I know the Overlord’s mostly focusing on the Alliance incursion in the area, but make sure we’re also keeping the Grimtotem problems under control down south.  The last thing I want to see is those fuckers getting a chance to come up for air.

Fucking geez, though, it took two of them to write that piece of shit?  I swear, I know I might not be the biggest genius ever to come out of Garadar or anything, but seriously the internet makes me feel like a fucking brainiac sometimes.  Oh wait, fuck, they’re going to see that, where’s that fucking erase button again?  SPAZZLE!

 

To Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde:

We at D.E.H.T.A. have received reports indicating that you are indeed waging a most CRUEL and DESPICABLE war – a war waged against the poor, defenseless animals who SUFFER under your regime.  In particular, you have committed the following ATROCITIES against Wyverns and Hippogryphs, two NOBLE winged citizens of the air who surely deserve RESPECT and CARE from an earthbound creature (or dare I say, mud-bound creature) such as yourself:

1.  You enslave these lofty souls and force them to bear your burdens, ferrying troops and cargo for YOUR benefit, not theirs;

2.  These creatures – of an intellect far surpassing your own, I’d wager – are forced to endure long, TEDIOUS hours of flying the same routes over and over again without variation, or sufficient rest;

3.  You ENDANGER their lives by strapping explosives to their backs and sending them into battle where they could be INJURED or KILLED;

4.  When they grow weary and tire of these exertions you have them BEATEN within an inch of their lives, showing NO compassion or regard for the services they have rendered to you;

5.  You then have the AUDACITY to boast about the maltreatment you have inflicted upon those in your care by posting about it on your so-called “blog”;

6.  You make JOKES about “crippled” animals, without regard for how such jokes inflict emotional PAIN and SUFFERING on those differently-abled animals who read your insensitive comments.

Your crimes cannot be allowed to continue!

I have discovered the identity of the Wyvern that you had so callously beaten and sentenced to the Winterspring-Silithus flight path!  As you read this message, said Wyvern has been liberated!  Members of D.E.H.T.A. have secured the Wyvern – hereafter referred to by his NAME, because he has a NAME, which is MORTIMER – and are moving Mortimer to an UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, where Mortimer will be safe from you and your Horde thugs!

In addition, we also have the following DEMANDS:

1.  All Wyverns, Bats, Dragonhawks, etc that are currently serving as “taxis” for the Horde must be RELEASED IMMEDIATELY!

2.  Any creature currently in service in the Horde’s army or being used as a mount must be IMMEDIATELY DISCHARGED.

3.  If any animal wishes to re-enlist in the Horde’s army or apply for a job ferrying persons or goods it must be offered fair wages, sufficient periods of rest, and full medical/dental insurance, as outlined by the Animal Worker’s Union.  (The Animal Worker’s Union is a new initiative by D.E.H.T.A.  Details forthcoming, watch your mailbox!)

4.  All Horde children will be required to read D.E.H.T.A.’s new pamphlet, “Becoming a Druid: How I can have a fulfilling career while being self-sufficient and able to fly MYSELF around”.

Until you acquiesce to our demands, we will continue to picket your flight points and liberate your “taxis”!  (As there are currently six members of D.E.H.T.A. we anticipate that this will be a huge disruption of flight service!)

Best wishes,

Arch Druid Lathorius, D.E.H.T.A.

Oh crap, here we go.

Look, Lather-on-us, how many times do we have to go through this shit?  It’s the same song and dance every time.  You dig up some nit-picky complaint about something I’m doing with some animals, wah wah wah, bitch and moan, insert crying like a little girl here, blah blah, skip ahead to me not giving a fuck.  Then you start picketing, and then I have some of my mages cast blizzard on your asses, and then you go skittering away because you can’t stand the cold.  HEY I HAVE AN IDEA, maybe a fur coat would help with that?  OH FUCK I FORGOT, SNAP!

But hey, you obviously put a lot of time and effort into your “demands” there, even though, you know, you’re not in much of a position to demand anything, seeing as I have about 8000 soldiers on hand here who could beat the snot out of any one of you DEHTA asshats.  Hell, never mind the soldiers, I’ve got like fifty personal guards who could smack down any two of you.  You know what, fuck that, I’ve got half a dozen food tasters who could mop up the floor with the whole lot of you at once.  So yeah, not really shaking in my sabatons over the whole “demand” thing, so how about we call them polite requests.

So since you DID put a lot of time and effort (and WORDS, let’s not forget ALL THE FUCKING WORDS) into your requests, here, let me offer a counter-proposal:

1.  All wyverns will be released from flight point duty, ON THE CONDITION that DEHTA members make their flight-form-having asses available to carry my citizens around Horde territories as needed, because guess what, hippies, if you mean business about making life easier for the damn animals YOU CAN PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS ARE.  How’s that sound?  You and the rest of your crazy-ass druid friends just step on up and make sure our air-taxi needs are covered, and hey, you know what, as long as the six of you can stay on top of all the flight demand, those beloved wyverns of yours don’t have to so much as flap a wing.  Hey, you know, come to think of it, I’ll even release them into a bunch of wyvern play ranches, and set those up right along all the flight routes, so you pansies can look down and enjoy the sight off all those happy wyverns that you’re making possible.  Bet that’ll make those aching wings of yours a whole lot easier to bear, right?

2.  But we can’t leave out the kodos and worgs and raptors, now can we?  NO WAY.  And I’m sure you guys will be only too happy to provide a happier life for those animals too, and don’t you worry, I’m already on the motherfucker.  I’ve got my goblins working RIGHT THIS MINUTE on a whole fucking fleet of bear- and panther-friendly rickshaws.  They tell me they should have the first six ready to go within a couple days, so you don’t even have to fucking WAIT to make life easier for all those pack animals.  AREN’T YOU FUCKING LUCKY!

3.  The Horde will donate an enormous pile of cloth to DEHTA, to be used to make some more suitable gear for your members, since I know you guys can’t wear mail or plate armor like grown-ups, and from what I hear druids normally wear leather, BUT WE ALL KNOW YOU WOULD NEVER WALK AROUND DRAPED IN MURDER, and we can’t have a bunch of naked druids wandering around catching their fucking death of cold, so I guess cloth it is!  Armor specialization bonuses be damned!  And hey, don’t feel like you’re putting us out at all, quite frankly we’ve had these little up-and-coming wannabe adventurers dropping off mountains of the stuff in every capital city for years now, and after the first couple months nobody’s known what to do with the shit, only no one’s had the heart to tell the little noobs they’re beating a dead horse (FIGURE OF SPEECH, FIGURE OF SPEECH, KEEP YOUR PANTIES ON), and seriously you can only make so many fucking band-aids.

4.  To show my support of your fine organization and help finance your noble efforts, I will personally fund and arrange a fundraiser – the first annual DEHTA-benefit all-you-can-eat hippogryph barbeque.  You can hold me to this: EVERY LAST COPPER WILL GO STRAIGHT INTO THE COFFERS OF DEHTA – so eat up, bitches, the more tasty marinated hippogryph wings we choke down, the brighter the future of DEHTA.  TELL YOUR FRIENDS, THANK ME LATER!

5.  Horde children will receive your DEHTA pamphlet, ALONG WITH my own supplementary booklet, “Garrosh’s 12-Step Guide to Keeping the Fucking Sand Out of Your Vagina, Even if You Happen to be a Night Elf.”  AVAILABLE NOW ON RANDOM TABLETOPS AND BOOKSHELVES THROUGHOUT AZEROTH!

6.  All DEHTA members will receive a formal invitation from the Warchief of the Horde to SUCK IT and STFU.

Are we done?