Spazzle Speaks: Homecoming

Mokvar is back in Orgrimmar.

That much isn’t a surprise.  The thought never would have occurred to me that he wouldn’t be back.

I just never would have expected this to be the way it happened.

Mokvar was captured in the Barrens by Krog and a security team.  After word came back from Garona that Mokvar had met with Magatha Grimtotem, Eitrigg issued orders that he wanted him brought in.  Mokvar and his human friend Deliana were found heading toward Ratchet, and were apprehended without much of a struggle.

I was able to poke into Grommash Hold when I saw the guards arrive with them, although I wasn’t able to stick around to see everything before I was ushered back out again.  No surprise, Eitrigg was absolutely livid – he was upset enough about the allegations from Ironforge, but this new development with Magatha on top of it was more than even his temper could stand.

I’m nowhere near as good as Mokvar at recording conversations, so I’m not going to be able to provide an account of what I heard as well as he could.  “What are you doing?” and “What are you thinking?” featured pretty prominently for Eitrigg early on, and I distinctly remember him going off along the lines of “You realize we’ll have to report all this to Garrosh, and when he hears half of it, it will be a miracle if we’re not able to hear him screaming all the way from Pandaria.”  He kept trying to get Mokvar to explain himself somehow – he kept pointing out that they’d served together for years under Garrosh and Thrall, that he wanted there to be some reason that could account for the way Mokvar’s been acting lately.  Mokvar wouldn’t give him anything.  He would just shrug and pass on every question.  “I would prefer not to,” or something like that.

I wasn’t there for everything that was said, but here’s where things stand, from what I’ve gathered: Mokvar is being held in what amounts to house arrest.  He’s confined in his home with Kor’kron guards posted at all times – partly to make sure no new attackers reach him, but mostly to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.  Deliana is being held in “protective custody” pending transport back to Alliance territory.

Meanwhile, Garona is planning to join the next troop transport leaving for Pandaria next week to report everything that’s happened to Garrosh personally.  Considering what she’s going to be reporting…I hope she goes in ready to pop Evasion.

In the Pale Moonlight

The less said about Ironforge, the better.  Even if I wanted to discuss it, which I really don’t, now isn’t the time.

Deliana returned with me from the Eastern Kingdoms, and we met Ji briefly in Ratchet.  He had good news (relatively speaking, at least) from the errand I’d sent him on, even though it had ended up running him from Desolace to Feralas then all the way back up to Stonetalon.  After we all exchanged notes, I sent Ji back home to Orgrimmar.  He resisted at first; he wanted to come with us for this next step.  But he was already deeper in this mess than I’d wanted him to get, and besides, this was my fight, not his.

Liana and I arranged windrider passage from Ratchet down to Mudsprocket.  From there, it was a fairly short ride over to the Wyrmbog, and the cave that used to be the lair of Onyxia.

We entered the cave.  We didn’t venture far, just deep enough to find a corner where every point of entry was visible.  Onyxia’s been dead for years, of course, but that didn’t stop it from being unnerving to go in there.  I’m sure it would have been unsettling in any case, but considering the rumors Theldren had brought back about Nefarian’s old forces being restless again, I found myself still half-expecting a black dragon to come jumping out of the shadows at any moment.  After all, Nefarian and Onyxia had both come back from the dead once already.  Not that I’m one to talk; I’ve died a couple times myself.  Spirits willing, I’d like the last time to stay the last for a good long while.

Eventually, we heard footsteps, and saw the light of a torch approaching from the same direction we’d come.  The footsteps slowly drew nearer, until a single tauren stepped into view.  Between his dark fur and the shadows that shifted around him in the dim cave, he probably seemed a lot larger than he really was.

 

TAUREN:  You are Mokvar?

Mokvar nods.

MOKVAR:  Are you alone?

The tauren tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow.

You know what I mean.

TAUREN:  We honor the terms of the meeting, of course.

MOKVAR:  <faint grin>  So in other words, the rest of your friends are waiting right outside the cave.

DELIANA:  Do you want me to check outside and see—

TAUREN:  If we’d wished to harm you, little one, you would already know it.

MOKVAR:  There’s no need, Liana.  He has a point – if we’re screwed at this point, we’re screwed no matter what.

The tauren looks back and forth between Mokvar and Deliana, then back up the passageway through which he’d entered.  He lifts a horn to his mouth and sounds a low blare.  Deliana continues to watch him closely; the tauren returns her gaze bemusedly.

TAUREN:  You’re going to make me think you don’t trust us, little one.

DELIANA:  You might say you have something of a reputation.

TAUREN:  <nods toward Mokvar>  So do the orcs.  That doesn’t seem to have affected you.

DELIANA:  <shrugs>  I like green.

The tauren chuckles.  From the passageway, footsteps become audible again and grow progressively closer.  After a moment, Magatha Grimtotem enters the chamber and scans the scene.

MAGATHA:  Ah, Mokvar.  It’s been too long.

MOKVAR:  Magatha.  I’m surprised you remember me, to tell the truth.

MAGATHA:  I never forget a face.  <looks to Deliana>  This one is new, though.

MOKVAR:  Yes, she is.

Magatha smirks.

MAGATHA:  You’re not going to introduce us, Mokvar?  How rude of you.

MOKVAR:  On top of everything else, Magatha, do we really need to maintain the pretense that we’re friends now, too?

MAGATHA:  I’m merely trying to be cordial.  <to Deliana>  Is he always this prickly?

DELIANA:  No.  You must have that effect on people.  <looks to Mokvar, then back to Magatha>  But, if it makes you feel any better… Deliana Hawthorne.

MAGATHA:  The pleasure is mine.

DELIANA:  It would have to be.

MAGATHA:  I’m beginning to see why you two get along.

Magatha looks around the cavern.

This is an interesting choice of venues, Mokvar.  Something of a step down from your usual accommodations, isn’t it?

MOKVAR:  A change of scenery now and then can be a good thing.  For instance, last I heard, you were on the run even from your own tribe.

MAGATHA:  You’ll find the Grimtotem tend not to hold grudges long against their own kind.  And I can be very persuasive.

MOKVAR:  Just as well.  It made it a little easier for Ji to get my message to you.

MAGATHA:  I must say I was intrigued.  I’m not unaccustomed to being the object of some…pursuit…but usually only from your Warchief’s usual lot of knuckle-dragging lackeys.  Your furry friend, however…

MOKVAR:  Not your typical Orgrimmar grunt, I know.

MAGATHA:  Yes, he had a polysyllabic vocabulary.  And spent a not-inconsiderable time musing over whether we had anything extra to eat.

MOKVAR:  That’s Ji, yeah.

MAGATHA:  Regardless, I’m quite curious as to why you would seek me out, given the company you usually keep.  Then again… <looks to Deliana> …I doubt your current companion would be well received in Orgrimmar herself.

DELIANA:  Maybe he’s trying to make me look better by bringing in one of the only people who would be less welcome.

MAGATHA:  <chuckles>  As plausible a theory as any.  <looks back to Mokvar>  But not the right one, I suspect.

MOKVAR:  I have some business that’s going to require me to travel to the Firelands.  Trouble is, I’m still relatively inexperienced as a shaman, and my ability to influence the elements isn’t nearly strong enough to keep me safe there.  You, on the other hand…well, whatever else I might think of you, there’s no disputing you’re a powerful shaman.

MAGATHA:  You flatter me.

MOKVAR:  Take it with a grain of salt.  It’s one strength offsetting I don’t know how many despicable things about you.

DELIANA:  I bet she’d also go great with fries.

MAGATHA:  If we’re going to be racist, I’m sure you would be quite adept at climbing trees and picking bananas.  <sneers>  Especially green ones.

MOKVAR:  The point is, I think you might know a trick or two that could help keep me alive when I go.  That’s why I wanted to meet with you.

MAGATHA:  And why turn to me, Mokvar?  There’s certainly no shortage of shaman in Orgrimmar you could have turned to.

MOKVAR:  I’d prefer to keep this trip to the Firelands off the record.

MAGATHA:  The Cenarion druids at Mouth Hyjal?  Thrall and his Earthen Ring?

MOKVAR:  Very off the record.

MAGATHA:  It must be quite the scandal you’re sitting on if you’d rather turn to me than confide in your supposed friends.

MOKVAR:  I have my reasons.

MAGATHA:  And those reasons would be…?

MOKVAR:  Mine.

Magatha grins.

MAGATHA:  Cairne would have liked you.

MOKVAR:  Then it’s a shame he was murdered by a traitor before he got the chance to know me.

MAGATHA:  You shouldn’t talk about your Warchief like that.

DELIANA:  As much as I’m enjoying going back and forth with this…

MAGATHA:  Indeed, let’s cut to the chase.  You need my help, Mokvar, so now for the real question: Why should I give it to you?

MOKVAR:  We both know you don’t harbor any ill will for me, Magatha.  I may work for Garrosh, but your quarrel is with him, not me.  He’s the one you hate.

MAGATHA:  True enough.  But that’s merely why it wouldn’t be worth it to me to go out of my way to hurt you, Mokvar, not why it would be worth helping you.

MOKVAR:  You’re focusing on the wrong part.  Think about this, Magatha.  I work for Garrosh.  I’m there in Grommash Hold every day.  Do you not think that makes me someone who would be…useful to have indebted to you?

MAGATHA:  Surely you’re not naïve enough to assume I don’t already have my informants.

MOKVAR:  Are they in Garrosh’s inner circle?  Do they attend every meeting with him?  Keep a written record, literally, of nearly everything he says and does?

MAGATHA:  <smiles thoughtfully>  Interesting…

MOKVAR:  I thought you might think so.

MAGATHA:  I think I may have an item or two that might help augment your abilities sufficiently for what you have in mind.  Nothing worldshattering, mind you…

MOKVAR:  That’s fine.  I’ve already lived through too many shattered worlds as it is.

MAGATHA:  We can meet again here for the exchange.  Tomorrow at this time?

DELIANA:  How do we know you won’t just be setting a trap?

MAGATHA:  How did you know I wasn’t setting one tonight?  There are two of you – three if you count your bouncing bear friend.  I could bring dozens with a word.  But Mokvar was right about one thing – I have nothing to gain from harming him.  And whatever else you might think of me, I’m not in the habit of doing harm when there’s no benefit to myself or my tribe.

MOKVAR:  Tomorrow night, then.

MAGATHA:  Tomorrow night.

Magatha gestures to the other Grimtotem, and they make their way back up the passage.

DELIANA:  Are you sure about this?

MOKVAR:  Not even remotely.  I may spend the next year washing my hands.

Mokvar peers up the dark passageway for several moments.

I think we’re clear.

Mokvar and Deliana start to walk up toward the cave exit.  As the passage narrows, a low whooshing sound is heard.  Deliana hesitates a moment while glancing around.

DELIANA:  <whispering>  Did you hear that?

Mokvar nods.

<whispering>  There’s someone stealthed in here.

MOKVAR:  <whispering>  It’s Garona.  She came in not far behind us when we arrived.

DELIANA:  <whispering>  You knew she was following us?

MOKVAR:  <whispering>  I was counting on it.

 

 

We’re staying in Mudsprocket until we go back to Onyxia’s lair tomorrow night.  With any luck, things will go off without a hitch there, and Magatha will have something useful for me.  Then that much will be over and done with.

Then comes the hard part.

 

 

Mokvar

The Wizard of Zhan, Act 3

The curtain rises on the exterior of Karazhan.  Garrosh et al approach the front gate.

GARROSH:  Okay, so this is the place…

FARANELL:  Weren’t we just here not too long ago?

Garrosh knocks on the door.  A window on the door slides open, and Berhold the doorman sticks his head out.

BERTHOLD:  Who goes there?  What business do you have at the master’s Dark Tower?

GARROSH:  We’ve come to see the Wizard.

DONTRAG:  The guardian Wizard of Zhan!

UTVOCH:  We hear he’s sage—

Garrosh smacks Utvoch.

GARROSH:  Now don’t you get started with that shit again!

BERTHOLD:  The Wizard?  You can’t see the Wizard!  No one sees the Wizard!

GARONA:  Here’s where I grease the wheels…  You remember me, don’t you, Berthold?

BERTHOLD:  <leans out a bit more, squinting>  Hmm, well…oh…oh goodness…lady Garona?  Is it really you?

GARONA:  It’s good to see you again, Berthold.  Could you please go in and tell the Wizard it’s me?

BERTHOLD:  Well, um, of course, m’lady.  I’ll just be a moment.

Berthold disappears inside and the window closes.

GARONA:  <grinning smugly>  See?  Now we just wait a minute or two, and then they’ll roll out the welcome mat.

GARROSH:  How do you know this guy, anyway?

GARONA:  I guess you could say we had sort of a thing back in the day.

GARROSH:  Suddenly this Wizard’s judgment is seeming a little suspect.

GARONA:  What’s that supposed to mean?

Just in front of the door, a heavy portcullis suddenly comes crashing down.

FARANELL:  Um, unless welcome mats have been radically redesigned lately…

GARONA:  Hang on.

Garona raps on the door angrily.  The window opens and Berthold looks out again.

BERTHOLD:  Yes?

GARONA:  Didn’t you tell him it was me?

BERTHOLD:  Yes!

Berthold slams the window shut.

GARONA:  Well I…I…

GARROSH:  Okay, so I stand corrected on this Wizard guy.

MOKVAR:  Well now we have a minor problem about getting in to see him.

GARROSH:  Anyone else have any bright ideas?

FARANELL:  Garrosh, let me see that Focusing Iris?

GARROSH:  You’re not going to try to blow up the gate and get us all killed or something, are you?

FARANELL:  Not all of us.

MOKVAR:  Reassuring.

FARANELL:  But really, let me see it.  I think I know how to appeal to him.

GARROSH:  <handing the Focusing Iris to Faranell>  You think you can get us in, run with it, man.

Faranell knocks on the door; the window opens, and Berthold looks out.

BERTHOLD:  Are you all still here?

FARANELL:  Yeah, so listen—

BERTHOLD:  Good heavens, what happened to you?  You look like death warmed over!

FARANELL:  Yeah, yeah, I’m undead.  So anyway—

BERTHOLD:  Undead?  That must be a horrible fate.

FARANELL:  Yeah, well, take a good long look at the future, smart guy.  Are you done interrupting me now?  Yeah?  Good.  So, check this out.  I know your boss isn’t in much of a hurry to be reunited with little miss sunshine over here, but I think he’d be very interested in getting a peek at this.

Faranell holds up the Focusing Iris.

You go on back inside and tell him that the bearer of the Focusing Iris is here, and might be persuaded to let him check out the number one item on every magic user’s Winter’s Veil list, okay?

BERTHOLD:  Huh…if you say so, sir…

Berthold disappears inside.

MOKVAR:  You think he’s going to go for it?

FARANELL:  Trust me, I know how to appeal to another mage.

GARROSH:  Let’s hope.

Accompanied by the sound of rattling chains, the portcullis rises back up, and the door swings open.

FARANELL:  And there we go.

GARROSH:  Nice job, Doc.  Now we’re in business.  Let’s go finish this…

The group walks through the gate.

Blackout.  Garrosh and the others enter a large chamber filled with relics, vials, and other magic paraphernalia.  Tapestries and ornate curtains decorate those portions of the walls not covered with tall bookshelves.

GARROSH:  Huh…  Well this looks like the kind of place a wizard would hang out, but where is he?

A booming voice echoes through the room.

VOICE:  You have come to seek an audience with the great and powerful Wizard of Zhan?

GARONA:  Oh boy, here he goes.

GARROSH:  <looking around>  Uh, yeah, we do, if he can bother dragging his butt out here so we can actually see him.

VOICE:  You dare presume to speak to the great Wizard with such familiarity, mortal?  You shall count yourself fortunate that the Wizard does not smite you where you stand!

UTVOCH:  Wait, he’s a priest?  I thought he was a mage.

MOKVAR:  Is he always like this?

GARONA:  Oh you have no idea.  All the time with the talking about himself in the third person.

In the middle of the room, a towering, semi-transparent avatar of Medivh appears.

MEDIVH:  The Wizard of Zhan has been informed that one among you carries the storied Focusing Iris!  It is for this reason alone that you have been permitted into this sanctified chamber!

GARONA:  Oh, and there he is, finally.  And thank you, dear, for that very warm welcome.

MEDIVH:  <looks at Garona>  Oh.  Delightful.

GARONA:  Oh, really?  You want to know what else is delightful?  Being a single mom trying to give her son a good life when the kid’s high-and-mighty richer-than-Aman’thul dad for some reason can’t be bothered to mail off a child support payment!

MEDIVH:  The great and powerful Wizard of Zhan does not have time to trifle with these petty—

GARONA:  Oh, sure, when it’s something I want to talk about…

GARROSH:  So listen, Your Wizardry, we have the Focusing Iris—

MEDIVH:  Indeed, hence you are here in my chamber, and not cast out to the ogres!  I will be most interested to examine the relic, and—

GARROSH:  Yeah, well, here’s the thing, chief – before we let you go poking around with the shiny, we have a few things of our own that we could use a hand with.

MEDIVH:  You dare dictate terms to the great and mighty Wizard!

GARONA:  Oh man, he’s really in form today…

FARANELL:  If you’d rather not be bothered we can just be along our way.

MEDIVH:  <chuckles>  You mortals have daring, I’ll grant you that much.

Medivh looks around the group, eyeing them carefully.

I will hear your requests.

GARONA:  Hold the presses, he just called himself “I.”

MEDIVH:  And you would do well to still her tongue.

GARROSH:  Been working on that for months, chief.  No luck so far.

MEDIVH:  At any rate – present your entreaties, but remember the Wizard makes no promises.

GARROSH:  We each have something we’re after, Wiz.  In my case, I’m trying to find a way to summon Prince Malchezaar down from the Netherspace, so I can put him in the ground before the Burning Legion can pull him out of mothballs to stir up trouble for my people.

MEDIVH:  Ah, yes, the irksome demon who’s tucked himself away in the upper levels.  You intrigue me, mortal; I must say it would be no small pleasure to have that particular infestation removed from this place…

GARROSH:  Okay, so far so good.  Meanwhile…well…the rest of the requests are a little more personalized.

DONTRAG:  Shall we present our case to the great and metallurgical Wizard, sir, and—

GARROSH:  <smacking Dontrag>  For spirits’ sake, no.

MOKVAR:  Dontrag and Utvoch here would like some brains.

UTVOCH:  Indeed, sir!

DONTRAG:  <rubbing his head>  So as not to have our current ones beaten out quite so often, sir.

GARROSH:  And for real, anything you could do on that count, I mean, I can’t possibly overstate how much of a quality of life improvement that could be for everyone involved.

MOKVAR:  As for the rest of us… A heart for me.

GARROSH:  Because apparently he’s still moping over his ex-wife or something.

GARONA:  Could you be any more insensitive?

FARANELL:  And some guts for me.

UTVOCH:  I still don’t really think you need—

MEDIVH:  Enough of your insipid prattling, insects!

GARROSH:  Yelling doesn’t do much good with this crowd, Wiz.  Don’t think I haven’t tried.

MEDIVH:  The great and powerful Wizard of Zhan has heard your requests, and in light of the possibility of studying the Focusing Iris, has deemed them acceptable.

GARROSH:  Awesome, Wiz.

FARANELL:  See, I told you the Iris was our ticket in.

MOKVAR:  So is there a spell or an incantation you have to do on us, or…?

MEDIVH:  Silence, mortals!  I have not yet finished!  I will grant your requests, but first I require you to perform a task on my behalf!

MOKVAR:  Uh oh.

DONTRAG:  I knew there was going to be a catch…

MOKVAR:  We’re going to have to kill something, aren’t we?

GARROSH:  So hang on, when you say we have to do a task for you, is this a for real task, or one of those busywork kind of tasks, because you’re talking to an old pro at doling out those…

FARANELL:  Personally I think the whole getting-to-work-on-the-Iris thing should be enough of a trade-off on our part, but…

MEDIVH:  Bleat at me no longer, fools!

MOKVAR:  …Ouch.

FARANELL:  That was kind of a good one, actually.

MEDIVH:  Before the mighty and magnanimous Wizard grants your request, he demands that you return to him another magic relic of great power: you are to slay the Wicked Witch of the West, and recover from her the Doomstone.

GARROSH:  Hang on, the Wicked Witch of the West?  That’s Magatha, isn’t it?

GARONA:  Yeah.

GARROSH:  So we get what we came for, AND I get to kill Magatha?

FARANELL:  Didn’t you already kill her in the other timeline?

GARROSH:  Trust me, dude, it never gets old.

MEDIVH:  You shall venture to the odious lair of the Wicked Witch, where you shall slay her and return with the powerful Doomstone.  You must not shy away from this task, for if you fail to carry out this duty—

GARROSH:  Dude, it’s cool, done and done.

MEDIVH:  Excellent!  Be warned, however, the lair of the Wicked Witch of the West shall not be breached easily.  It lies in the Mountains of Twilight, in the dread Bastion of the Dying Day.  The journey shall be long and arduous, and you will find many trials between here and—

FARANELL:  <holding up the Focusing Iris and channeling a spell>  Yeah, stoke that noise.  Portal to BoT coming up!

Faranell completes the spell and teleports the group away, other than Garona.

MEDIVH:  <sighs>  Mortals.

Blackout.  In an inner chamber of the Bastion of Twilight, Magatha peers into an Eye of Twilight.  Beside her hunches Zhi-Zhi, dressed in armor and sporting bat-like wings on his back; around the room similar winged monkey creatures scurry.

MAGATHA:  The visions have grown cloudy…they may have reached Karazhan, but no matter – soon enough we’ll find them, and the Focusing Iris will be—

In a flash of light, Garrosh et all appear in the middle of the room.  The group appears briefly disoriented as they look around.

FARANELL:  Okay, here we are!

MOKVAR:  <looking around>  Are…are those flying monkeys?

MAGATHA:  Well then!  All the better!  No need to go out hunting for them – the fools have delivered themselves right into my very lair!

ZHI-ZHI:  Now!  Now we get them, your Witchy-wooken-ness ma’am!  Hozen do good and get the dookin’—

MAGATHA:  <smacking Zhi-Zhi>  Shut up, you insipid preliterate orang utan!  Get them!

ZHI-ZHI:  Ahhh!  Stop hitting Zhi-Zhi!

DONTRAG:  I know the feeling, ape guy…

ZHI-ZHI:  Get them!  Get them!

More monkeys swarm into the room and start running to surround Garrosh’s group, which backs up toward stage right.  Magatha runs back and forth in the background, overlooking the scene.  Arikara flies in and swoops back and forth above them.

GARROSH:  That’s…a whole lot of monkeys.

FARANELL:  Plus that wind serpent…

Mortimer leaps into the air and barrels into Arikara with a snarl, knocking them both offstage to the left.

GARROSH:  Yeah, I’m not so worried about the wind serpent.

The monkeys descend in bunches, attacking the group.

The chimp brigade, on the other hand…

The Horde group starts to fight off the monkeys; they cut the monkeys down easily enough, but by sheer force of numbers, Magatha’s attackers push Garrosh et al further back.

Magatha descends and begins shooting chain lightning.

MAGATHA:  Hahaha!  You fools made my work that much easier!  Now the Focusing Iris will be mine, and—

Faranell runs up to Magatha and splashes her from a bucket.

AAAHH!!  I’m melting!  I’m melting!  AAAAHHH!!!

Screaming all the way, Magatha melts into a sizzling brown puddle on the floor.

GARROSH:  Um, hang on a second.  She melted?  Fucking WATER killed her?

FARANELL:  No.  That wasn’t water.

MOKVAR:  What was it, then?

FARANELL:  Acidic plague.

GARROSH:  You walk around with a bucket of acidic plague?

FARANELL:  Do you not know what I do for a living?

ZHI-ZHI:  The Wicked Witch – she’s dead!  You killed her!

MOKVAR:  Uh oh.  Bracing for pissed-off monkeys.

ZHI-ZHI:  She’s dead!  She’s dead!  Hozen are free!  Free of the Witch!

Zhi-Zhi starts jumping up and down jubilantly, with the other monkeys following his lead in short order.  Mortimer wanders in and sits, munching on a wind serpent wing.

DONTRAG:  I guess this is good?

MOKVAR:  As long as they don’t start fliging poop around, I think we’re okay.

ZHI-ZHI:  No more beatings from Wicked Witch!  We friends now!  Friends of the hozen!

Faranell prods Magatha’s remains, rummaging through the remains of her cloak.

MOKVAR:  Be careful there, Edwin – are you sure you should be poking around in that stuff?

FARANELL:  <continues rummaging>  Oh, yes, you’re right, I’d better be careful not to touch any of the plague, or else my flesh might decompose and I might die and OH WAIT.

Faranell pulls a polished gray stone from Magatha’s cloak and tosses it to Garrosh.

Here we go.  Mission accomplished.

ZHI-ZHI:  Yes!  You take Doomstone – reward for killing Wicked Witch!  And hozen will follow you now!

GARROSH:  Don’t I know you from somewhere?

ZHI-ZHI:  <scratching his head>  Ever been to Tian Monastery?

GARROSH:  Never heard of it.

MOKVAR:  Well, other than that one time.

ZHI-ZHI:  <still scratching his head>  Dunno then…

GARROSH:  <shrugs>  Whatever.

FARANELL:  Portal back to the Wizard?

GARROSH:  Yeah, let’s get a move on.

ZHI-ZHI:  Hozen come too!  Follow new leader!  Leader who free hozen!

GARROSH:  Uh, yeah, dude, listen, I’ve already got my quota filled on preliterate knuckle-dragging lackeys, okay?

DONTRAG:  Sorry, sir.

FARANELL:  Okay, gentlemen, here we go…

Faranell casts a portal spell and teleports the group away.  Zhi-Zhi remains with the other winged monkeys; he looks around dejectedly, then sneers at the spot where Garrosh had been standing.

ZHI-ZHI:  Still not the one!

Blackout.  In the Wizard of Zhan’s chamber, Garrosh et al port in, joining Medivh, Garona, and Liadrin.

MEDIVH:  Ah, you’ve returned!  The mighty but restless Wizard of Zhan is both pleased and not inconsiderably relieved at your timely return!

MOKVAR:  You were worried about us?

MEDIVH:  Not especially.  But since your departure, your…colleague has scarcely shut up.

GARONA:  Well sue me for thinking you might want to catch up a little.  It’s not like we have a kid together or anything.

GARROSH:  <looking to Liadrin>  And hang on, what are YOU doing here?

LIADRIN:  You think I would miss this floor show?

GARROSH:  Well you know, if you were going to come here anyway, you could have maybe stayed with us and used some of your magic to help move things along.

LIADRIN:  And then what would you have learned?

GARROSH:  I didn’t learn a damn thing as it is, other than “Watch where you step around monkeys” and “Don’t get too close if you see a walking corpse with a bucket”!

FARANELL:  You know I’m standing right here.

LIADRIN:  Two valuable life lessons.

GARROSH:  …I seriously need some new friends.

MEDIVH:  At any rate.

GARROSH:  Yeah, PLEASE get us back to business.

MEDIVH:  You have brought the Doomstone, as I instructed?

GARROSH:  <holds up the Doomstone>  Got it right here.

MEDIVH:  Excellent.  Now you shall hand over the relic, and—

GARROSH:  Not so fast, translucent boy.  First you give us what we came here for, THEN we’ll give you the doohicky.

MEDIVH:  You dare try to dictate terms to the great and powerful Wizard of Zhan, mortal?  I should liquidate you for your presumption alone!

Mortimer, who has been sniffing around the various tapestries that cover parts of the walls, tugs back one curtain to reveal a control panel covered with elaborate levers, buttons, and monitors, manned by a Forsaken male dressed in warrior’s plate.

GARROSH:  Uh, who’s that?

The Forsaken man speaks into a microphone on the control panel, and his words are echoed by Medivh.

AVERRY and MEDIVH:  Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!

FARANELL:  Well that’s…odd.

GARROSH:  The hell?

GARONA:  I don’t even want to think about the implications of this for me.

AVERRY and MEDIVH:  Silence, you foolish mortals!  Pay him no mind!

GARROSH:  Dude, we can see you’re the one doing the talking.

UTVOCH:  I’m confused.

FARANELL:  Imagine our astonishment.

Averry looks back at the others and hurriedly pulls the curtain closed again.

GARROSH:  Now then, insects, you will disregard the man behind the— Oh.  Oops.  Wrong button.

MEDIVH:  That’s better.  Now then, insects, you will disregard the man behind the curtain, and put him out of mind!

ALL:  What man behind the curtain whom we certainly don’t remember seeing?

MEDIVH:  Much better.

GARROSH:  Look, can we just get what we came here for so we can get this whole freak show over with?

LIADRIN:  It probably would be just as easy to do it this way, Guardian.

MEDIVH:  <sighs>  Very well.  Have your companions step forward…

Mokvar, Faranell, Dontrag, and Utvoch step closer to Medivh.  Medivh looks to Faranell.

First you, my fellow – albeit preposterously less mighty – mage.

FARANELL:  Can’t anyone be one of the best at their class without being an elitist jerk about it?

MEDIVH:  You came, as I recall, seeking guts – and yet I daresay you suffer from disorganized thinking.  To flee from danger is, in many cases, not cowardice, but wisdom.  Indeed, in my day I have known many a soul called a hero, who carried out great deeds of valiance, and they had no more courage than—

FARANELL:  No, no, you’re taking this too metaphorically.

MEDIVH:  Pardon?

FARANELL:  I don’t need guts because I think I’m a coward.  Look at me.  Half my internal organs are missing.  I have no guts, literally.

MEDIVH:  Huh.  You know, you’re shedding new light on some complaints I’ve been getting from Moroes…

FARANELL:  How about I put you down for an “I’ll get back to you” and keep the line moving.

Medivh shrugs and turns to Mokvar.

MEDIVH:  As for you, my good orc… Your trouble is another misperception of your situation – not the lack of heart, but a damaged one.  To that end, I give you this remedy, for your ears and your ears alone:

Medivh leans closer to Mokvar.

<aside>  She is still out there, alive, and she is looking for you.

Mokvar makes a surprised expression, then nods and steps away.  Medivh turns to Dontrag and Utvoch.

Now then…you two.

DONTRAG:  Yes, sir, your high and mighty Wizardariousness, sir.

UTVOCH:  Very much honored to bask in your presence and await your magnaminious blessings, sir.

MEDIVH:  Hmm…  Yeah.  Right.  Sorry.  You can’t fix stupid.

DONTRAG:  Oh.

UTVOCH:  Um…okay…

GARROSH:  <sighs>  Gotta say, we’re not getting a whole lot of return on our investment so far.

MEDIVH:  Now for your request, other-orc.  You say you seek the demon Malchezaar, and the means to draw him out of his hiding place…

GARROSH:  Right.  Please don’t tell me this is another one of those “Oops, I can’t really do that one” things for you.

MEDIVH:  The great and powerful Wizard of Zhan can do anything, mortal!

FARANELL:  Other than listen to himself for like the last three minutes.

MEDIVH:  But, as it happens, in this case the Wizard does not need to!

GARROSH:  <sighs>  Don’t tell me you’re going to get all cryptic on me now.

LIADRIN:  What I think the Wizard means, Garrosh, is that you have the means now to do it yourself.

GARROSH:  The what now?

Liadrin points to the Doomstone in Garrosh’s hands.

Huh… This thing can do it?  How?

LIADRIN:  You need only charge it with the Focusing Iris, and you’ll see.

GARROSH:  Huh.  Well, you heard her, Edwin.  Let’s see what this thing does.

Faranell takes out the Focusing Iris and starts to channel arcane power through it and into the Doomstone.  The Doomstone starts to glow, then expand, growing into a heavy gray slab of rock with a single runic symbol etched into it.

LIADRIN:  Now all you need to is touch your hand to it and say “Come click on the stone.”

Garrosh gives a quizzical look, then shrugs and puts his hand on the stone.

GARROSH:  Come click on the stone.

LIADRIN:  That’s it…go on…

GARROSH:  Come click on the stone… Come click on the stone… Come click on the stone…

As he repeats the phrase, Faranall and Mokvar approach and touch the stone as well.  The stage lights dim as Medivh’s chamber fades away, and the only things left visible are Garrosh and the stone.  A bright light flashes around the stone, and Prince Malchezaar appears.

MALCHEZAAR:  <looks around bewildered>  What?  How—?

GARROSH:  Well hey, now we’re in business.

MALCHEZAAR:  You!  You dare?

GARROSH:  Yeah, so, we haven’t really properly met or anything, princy, so let me fill you in – I dare.  Like, professionally.

MALCHEZAAR:  Madness has brought you here, orc!  Now I shall be your undoing!

GARROSH:  Seriously, do you bad guys all take a class on these stock threats?  Because—

Garrosh reaches to his back to draw Gorehowl, only to find it’s disappeared from its usual place.

Wha— Oh for fuck’s sake, seriously?  Again, now?

Laughing menacingly, Malchezaar draws Gorehowl and brandishes it.

MALCHEZAAR:  Ha!  Have you misplaced this, fool?  I remember fondly the day I recovered it from Demon’s Fall!

GARROSH:  Ugh, fine, we’ll do this the street-brawl way…

Garrosh rushes at Malchezaar and grapples with him, gripping Gorehowl by its haft when Malchezaar tries to swing it at him.

MALCHEZAAR:  Flee now while you can, orc!  You do not face Malchezaar alone—

GARROSH:  Yeah, yeah, we all know the spiel, squid-face – but you know something?  You’re right.  I DON’T face Malchezaar alone…

The stage lights come back on, illuminating the normal, minimally dressed stage of the Opera House – with Faranell, Liadrin, Mokvar, Garona, Dontrag, and Utvoch in a semicircle behind Garrosh and Malchezaar.

Say hello to the legion at my command!  SHOW TIME FOR REAL, kids!

MOKVAR:  Liking our odds a lot better this time…

While Faranell and Mokvar stand back, casting fireballs and lightning bursts respectively, Liadrin, Garona, Dontrag, and Utvoch run in to engage Malchezaar at melee range.  Malchezaar staggers back and forth under the onslaught of the group, still grappling with Garrosh over their hold on Gorehowl, until Garrosh twists it out of Malchezaar’s grip, leaps up, and cleaves through the demon’s neck, severing his head.  Malchezaar’s body slumps to the floor, and the spectral audience bursts into applause.

GARROSH:  Wham, bam, the bitch is dead.  Bitch.

As the audience continues their applause, Barnes walks to center stage.

BARNES:  A splendid finale for a most varied and entertaining evening of theater!  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you tonight’s troupe of performers, here for the first and only time for your enjoyment!

The applause rises; Barnes walks back offstage.

MOKVAR:  Well that takes care of that.

DONTRAG:  We’re done here now, right?

LIADRIN:  That should do it, yes…

FARANELL:  <standing over Malchezaar’s body somberly>  At least now he can stop coming back to die over and over…

MOKVAR:  Oh, yeah…I guess you were in your own kind of time loop, weren’t you, Edwin…

LIADRIN:  But…Edwin, it would have been a stable loop with you, wouldn’t it?  Just one set of events repeating infinitely?

FARANELL:  That’s what I’d figured it was going to be…

GARROSH:  Wait, what?  What do you mean, a stable loop?

FARANELL:  When I stayed in old Southshore, and replaced myself.  I’d figured I would live through my life like I remembered it, then get to the point where we traveled to the past, and go back with you again, then the events would be complete.  And then it would be done, and the cycle would just keep spinning itself.

LIADRIN:  That isn’t what happened for you?

FARANELL:  <shaking head slowly>  It didn’t just repeat.  I would live through to our mission to the past, and replace myself again, and pick up my life in the past…and yeah, the loop would keep repeating, but every cycle through, I had to live it through again, and repeat my part of it again, and…

GARROSH:  And…?

LIADRIN:  Oh…oh no…

FARANELL:  …and die again.  And be raised again.

MOKVAR:  Holy crap…

UTVOCH:  Wait, I’m confused, what’s he—

GARROSH:  Just this once, will you please SHUT THE FUCK UP?

FARANELL:  And so yeah, every time around, I had to live out that repetition fresh.  I can still remember every loop, individually…

LIADRIN:  Edwin… I’m not sure if I even really want to know, but…how many times did you…go around?

FARANELL:  By the time you…I…reset the timelines and broke me out…?  2,734.

LIADRIN:  By the Light…  You…relived your own death…?

Faranell nods, still staring at Malchezaar.

MOKVAR:  Edwin, listen—

FARANELL:  Doesn’t really matter at this point.  <turns back to the others>  Come on.  We’re done here.  Portal to Orgrimmar coming up.

Faranell summons a portal, and one by one the rest of the group disappears through it.

There’s no place like home…

Faranell ports out.  The curtain closes.

The Wizard of Zhan

The curtain rises on the admiral’s quarters in Northwatch Hold, where Garrosh is sitting in a chair, slumped over a central table.  Everything appears black-and-white.

After a moment, Garrosh stirs and looks around the room while rubbing his forehead.  Stage lights illuminate the far edges of the stage, alternating sides, showing brief glimpses of Orgrimmar in flames, being overrun by demons.  The sounds of screaming and demonic laughter can be heard, seemingly at a distance.  The lights at the edges of the stage go out.  Garrosh stands, and the background noise stops.

GARROSH:  Malchezaar… They were able to do it because of Malchezaar…

 

{UP IN THE NETHER}

GARROSH:

Somewhere up in the nether
In the dark,
There’s a demon “prince,” self-appointed,
Calls himself Malchezaar.

Mortimer wanders in and settles near Garrosh as the song continues.

Somewhere up in the nether
Time did break.
You can kill him while he’s up there
But it just won’t take.

Some day I’ve got to drag him down
Out of that place and go to town
And stop it.
The Legion hid him in the cracks.
Sometimes he’s got my father’s axe;
I hope he drops it.

Somewhere up in the nether
Demons hide.
Prince lurks up in the nether –
It’s long since time he died.

If demons get to be revived
Without a timer,
Why oh why can’t I?

Garrosh walks to a window and looks out.  A stage light illuminates the edge of the stage again, this time revealing the burning ruins of Camp Taurajo.

Garrosh steps back into the room and, slowly at first but with increasing speed and urgency, begins running around the room, knocking over and smashing furniture.  Dizzying music fades in as Garrosh continues; he runs around in circles, destroying everything he can reach.  The stage lights dim until the room itself fades from view and the only thing visible is Garrosh – running in circles, lashing at his invisible surroundings, moving with increasing speed until he starts to blur into a whirlwind of anger.

The lights slowly come up to show that the Northwatch Hold tower has been replaced by the deck of a goblin sky galleon.  The ship is spinning in air, such that the rotation of the ship gradually comes to replace Garrosh’s running; he now stands on the deck as the galleon spins around, tossed in circles by a literal whirlwind.

The lights fade to black while the dizzying music continues – growing louder – then a loud crash is heard.  The stage lights come up again, showing the sky galleon wrecked on the ground amid the ruins of Theramore.  For the first time, the scene is visible in full color.  Garrosh is sprawled out on the ground near the wreckage, unconscious.  Mortimer flies in and approaches.  He prods Garrosh carefully with one paw; Garrosh stirs and starts to get up.

GARROSH:  <rubbing his head with one hand while patting Mortimer with the other>  Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, buddy…

Garrosh turns to the wreckage of the galleon and notices a woman’s legs sticking out from under it.

Huh.  She’s not okay, though, whoever she is.  Was.

Garrosh looks around the ruins, then back to the galleon.  As he turns away, several goblins begin to emerge slowly from behind pieces of the ruins.

Hmm… Mortimer, I don’t think we’re in Northgate anymore…  Looks like Theramore…so…so that would make HER—

SPAZZLE:  <running to the wreckage>  The Witch!  She’s dead!  The Wicked Witch is dead!

More goblins appear and gather closer around the wreckage.

GARROSH:  Hang on, the witch?  You mean like a mage?

SPAZZLE:  Well, it’s kind of a blanket term.

GARROSH:  But is THIS one a mage?

KHIZZARA:  Not anymore!

GARROSH:  Yeah, fine, I get it, she’s dead.  What I’m trying to find out is if she’s—

GIZZIX GRIMEGURGLE:  She’s dead!

DYSLIX SILVERGRUB:  Dead!

KRIXIL SLOGSWITCH:  The Witch is dead!

KHIZZARA:  Woot!

GARROSH:  Fine, fuck it, I’ll check it out myself.

Garrosh takes hold of the edge of the wreckage and, grunting, lifts it a few feet.

UGH!  GROSS!

Garrosh releases the galleon and it crashes back onto the body.  One hand is left flopping limply out from under the wreckage; a glowing blue orb falls out of its palm and rolls across the ground.

Definitely Jaina, though.  Gotta say, not exactly a glorious way to go out.  <chuckles>  Oh well.  Live on your back, die on your back, right?

The blue sphere rolls further.  In a puff of smoke, Liadrin appears in the sphere’s path.  She is wearing the paladin Lightsworn robes and has the wings of Avenging Wrath permanently glowing on her back.  She leans down and picks up the orb.

LIADRIN:  Are you the one who’s slain the Wicked Witch of the East and freed the Mudsprockets?

GARROSH:  What, Jaina?  Yeah, that was me, I guess.

GOBLINS:  Hooray!

GARROSH:  So hang on, who are all you people?

LIADRIN:  I am the Good Witch of the North.  And the Mudsprockets live here in the marsh.

RAZBO RUSTGEAR:  Under the tyrannical reign of the Wicked Witch of the East!

KHIZZARA:  Not anymore!

GOBLINS:  Hooray!

GARROSH:  Jaina had a tyrannical reign?

SPAZZLE:  Well, more like some pretty strict local ordinances on fireworks and explosives.

KHIZZARA:  Not anymore!

GIZZIX GRIMEGURGLE:  Splodey-ville, here we come!

GOBLINS:  Hooray!

GARROSH:  Okay, whatever.  You’re happy she’s dead, I’m happy she’s dead, it’s all cool.  One less thorn in my side, gotta tell you.

 

{WHAM, BAM, THE BITCH IS DEAD}

GARROSH:

Wham!  Bam!  The bitch is dead!

GOBLINS:

Witch?  Which bitch?

GARROSH:

The Proudmoore bitch!
Wham!  Bam!  The Proudmoore bitch is dead!
I landed on her head,
She wished she woulda stood in bed.
Flat splat, the Proudmoore bitch is dead!

GOBLINS:

She won’t stop the goblins now –
Kapow!  Kapow!  Kapow!
So now, let’s open up and blast,
At last!  Let’s rock some rockets!
Wham bam, she got put down,
A new sheriff is in town!
Don’t you frown, the Wicked Witch is dead!

Drazzit Dripvalve approaches wearing a top hat and comically flamboyant ceremonial attire.

DRAZZIT DRIPVALVE:

As Mayor of dear Mudsprocket,
In the shadow of the Witch’s lair,
I welcome you effusively!

GIZZIX GRIMEGURGLE:

But it must be proved conclusively,
To know…

DRAZZIT DRIPVALVE:

To know?

GIZZIX GRIMGURGLE:

That blow…

DRAZZIT DRIPVALVE:

That blow?

GIZZIX GRIMGURGLE:

Has utterly, totally,

KRIXIL SLOGSWITCH:

Not just anecdotally!

RAZBO RUSTGEAR:

Determinately, permanently,

GOBLINS:

Undiminishedly gone and finished her off.

SPAZZLE:

I went ahead and checked her out,
And I can say without a doubt
That she’s not just flatter than most:
She’s totally and truly toast.

DRAZZIT DRIPVALVE:

Then today we’ll fire our rockets!
Celebrating free Mudsprockets!
Now spread the word!  Let none neglect!
The Wicked Witch just got shipwrecked!

GOBLINS:

Wham!  Bam!  The Witch is dead!
Which?  Which Witch?  The Wicked Witch!
Wham!  Bam!  The Wicked Witch is dead!
He landed on her head,
She wished she woulda stood in bed.

GARROSH:

Flat splat, the Proudmoore bitch is dead!

GOBLINS:

She won’t stop the goblins now –
Kapow!  Kapow!  Kapow!
So now, let’s open up and blast,
At last!  Let’s rock some rockets!
Wham bam, she got put down,
A new sheriff is in town!
Don’t you frown, the Wicked Witch is dead!

From above, Magatha Grimtotem swoops in, riding her wind serpent Arikara.  Cackling maniacally, she casts chain lightning down at the Mudsprockets, who scatter and try to take cover.

GARROSH:  What the fuck is SHE doing here?

LIADRIN:  It’s the Wicked Witch of the West!

GARROSH:  How many fucking Wicked Witches do you people HAVE around here?

LIADRIN:  Two—

KHIZZARA:  Not anymore!

LIADRIN:  Well, yes, one now.  But this one is even worse than the Wicked Witch of the East ever was.

GARROSH:  Preaching to the choir, lady.

Magatha unleashes another burst of chain lightning; Garrosh and Liadrin dive out of the way.  Mortimer launches into the air, snarling, and swipes at Arikara.

GARROSH:  Yeah!  Go get ’em, Mortimer!

Mortimer’s strike knocks Magatha off of Arikara and sends her crashing to the ground.  Shrieking, Arikara flies out of view.  Magatha gets up and looks at Jaina’s legs poking out from under the wreckage.  Mortimer returns to the ground, landing next to Garrosh.

MAGATHA:  So it’s true!  She’s dead!  <looking around hurriedly>  Where is it, then?  It must be here!

LIADRIN:  <holding up the blue sphere>  Are you looking for this?

MAGATHA:  The Focusing Iris!  Yes!  Once I combine its power with that of the Doomstone—

LIADRIN:  You’ll do nothing of the kind, crone!

MAGATHA:  You think I fear you, elf?  I’ll take it from you if I have to!

Magatha starts to cast another chain lightning, but is interrupted when Garona – sporting the Fangs of the Father wings – unstealths and stunlocks her.

GARONA:  Not so much, Steak Sauce!

GARROSH:  So, who’s this supposed to be now?

LIADRIN:  She’s the Morally Ambiguous Witch of the South-by-Southeast.

GARONA:  Hey.

GARROSH:  You people have some really weird fucking job titles, gotta say.

LIADRIN:  You slayed the Wicked Witch of the East, so it’s only right that the Focusing Iris should go to you as its caretaker…

Liadrin hands the Iris to Garrosh.

What’s important is that it stays out of the hands of the crone at all cost.

GARROSH:  Yeah, don’t worry, I am all about making her life unpleasant…

Arikara swoops by again, startling Garrosh and Liadrin into taking a few steps back; Magatha breaks out of her stun, jumps back, and puts down an earthbind totem that holds the others in place.

MAGATHA:  I may need to bide my time for now, but the Iris will be mine yet!  And as for you, orc – I’ll get you, my cranky, and your little wyvern, too!

Magatha leaps onto Arikara’s back and takes off.

LIADRIN:  She’ll be back.  I hope you can handle powerful enemies.

GARROSH:  I’ve dealt with worse.  Matter of fact, I was working on one just before I wound up here.

LIADRIN:  What enemy was that?

GARROSH:  A demon called Malchezaar – taking him out wouldn’t even be that big of a deal, but I kind of have to get him out of his lair in order to defeat him.

LIADRIN:  Something you would need powerful magic to do?

GARROSH:  Probably.  Magic not really being my strong suit.

LIADRIN:  I may know whose it is.  You want to talk to the Wizard of Zhan.

GARROSH:  The who now?

LIADRIN:  The Wizard of Zhan!  He’s a wise, mysterious mage who lives in the Dark Tower far away.

GARROSH:  So this guy is pretty powerful?

LIADRIN:  Extremely – they say there’s no end to what he can do.

GARONA:  Let’s not get carried away now.

GARROSH:  You know him?

GARONA:  We’ve met.

GARROSH:  So how do I get to him?

LIADRIN:  The tower of Zhan is far to the east of Dustwallow, in the Pass of Dying Winds.  Luckily for you, the eastward Gold Road will take you straight there.

Liadrin points to the yellow brick road beneath their feet.

GARROSH:  Well that’s convenient.

GARONA:  I can go with you, since I know the Wizard.

LIADRIN:  You should get started – it’s a long trip, especially since you’ll be walking.

GARROSH:  Screw walking, I’ve got my wyvern right here.  I can just hop on and fly along the road.

GARONA:  Great!  I can get on behind you and hold onto you.

GARROSH:  Okay, so walking it is.  Grats on the dodged bullet, Mortimer.

GARONA:  Fine.

LIADRIN:  We’ll see you off!  Good luck on your journey!

GARROSH:  Hey, actually…you said this road leads right to Zhan?

LIADRIN:  Yes, it does.

GARROSH:  Even though there’s an ocean between here and there?  Because we’re kind of on a different continent.

LIADRIN:  Yes, but fortunately the road runs across the Willing Suspension Bridge of Disbelief.

GARROSH:  Huh.  Okay then.  Off we go.

Garrosh, Garona, and Mortimer start to follow the road while the Mudsprockets gather behind them.

 

{OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD}

GOBLINS:

You’re off to see the Wizard,
The guardian Wizard of Zhan.
We hear he’s sage: the mightiest mage
Who ever met mortal man.
If you seek some sorcery for your plan,
The Wizard’s your man, because he can –
He can, he can, he can, he can, he can.
He’ll have it all done before it began!
You’re off to see the Wizard,
The guardian Wizard of Zhan!

The curtains close.

 

{TO BE CONTINUED IN ACT 2}

Same as it ever was

I was groggy when I woke up, and even after I opened my eyes, it took a few minutes for my head to stop spinning.  Finally my vision cleared up and I found myself sitting in a chair, sprawled forward over a table.  There were papers under my face, and a few of them stuck to it courtesy of a small puddle of drool.

I straightened up in the chair, plucked the clingy pages from my cheek, and looked around the room.  It was the admiral’s quarters in Northwatch Hold, the room I’ve been using the last few days of our stay here.  The drool-smeared papers in my hand, and others spread around the table, were covered with maps of Theramore, lists of troop assignments, armament logistics, the crew manifesto of a goblin air galleon.

I ran my hands over the table to make sure it was really there.  And then my uneasy brain went looking for hallucination in the next most likely place.

Had I imagined it?  The other world, the demons, the Scourge, the fall of Orgrimmar…everything…could it have just been a dream?  It seemed so real, the memories were so vivid…but…

I stood up, gathered more of the papers from the table, and started paging through them — not even reading anything on them, really, just wanting something I could feel in my hands.  As I held the documents over the tabletop and looked at all the words without ever reading any of them, my arm brushed another paper, this one creased and folded, jutting out of my belt.

The military documents spilled around the floor as I grabbed the folded paper and rushed to unfold it.  It was worn and stained with what looked like blood, just a torn-off scrap, not even half a page.  Scrawled across it was the familiar handwriting of the Master Apothecary of Sylvanas’ Royal Society.  Or the man who would become him.

They’re going to turn against you.  Don’t let them.

He really, REALLY never listened.  It’s like some weird matter of principle with him.  I don’t even know if he was really trying to help, offering some begrudging, misguided gesture in parting…or if this was his way of giving me one last middle finger for the things I’d forced him to do.  I don’t know if I could hold either against him.

But that sealed it.  It all happened.  Except that it didn’t, now.

It worked.  We did it.  We saved the world.  It all happened, just the way I remembered it, just the way it was supposed to.

I walked over to the tower window.  I needed some air to clear my head.  I leaned out and looked across the Barrens.  I could see Horde banners below, and a squad of Kor’kron wyvern riders circling past as they patrolled the area.  And as I looked off into the distance, staring at the horizon more than anything, I started to make out wisps of smoke, faint black tendrils reaching up to the sky from old, spiteful fires that refused to go out completely, even after all this time.

Taurajo.

I turned from the window and stepped back into the room.

And then I grabbed one of the chairs arranged around the table and threw it against the wall.  The chair broke into pieces.  I ran over and grabbed them up, one after another, breaking them into smaller pieces and smashing them against the wall again.  And then a second chair.  And a third.  Screaming with each one — AT each one.

I threw them around the room until the chairs were pieces and the pieces were splinters, smashing them against the walls and the floor and each other as if by breaking them enough I could force back the thoughts I couldn’t help thinking.

I ran across the room to a bookcase that stood against one wall and sent it toppling.  Books spilled around the floor.  I lunged down, hunched over, grabbed them by the fistful and hurled them against the walls.  Watched them clatter back to the floor.  It didn’t help.  I grabbed up more of them, pulling them open, ripping them apart at the spines, flinging loose pages around until they fluttered uselessly down around me.

Fluttered like shimmering white wings.

I pounced back on the broken bookcase, yanked out one shelf, flung it across the room.  It clattered to the floor.  It didn’t break.  I wrenched out a second shelf and threw it against the door, leaving a deep gash in the wood.  That one didn’t break, either.  Somehow that only made me angrier, sent me into a rage at its stubbornness, its stupid defiance, refusing to snap.  How DARE it — how dare ANYTHING — and I ran to the door, grabbed up the fallen shelf, and beat it against the wall until it splintered.

It didn’t help.  It wasn’t enough.

The door to the room opened and Malkorok leaned in.  I only heard bits and pieces of whatever he said — something about the noise, and my yelling, and if I was all right.  I spun on him, struck him across the face, then threw him back out of the room and down the stairs before slamming the door, rattling it on its hinges.

Today is not the day to ask me if I’m all right.

I grabbed one of the broken chair pieces and jammed the door shut.  I wasn’t in any mood for interruptions, least of all from the likes of him.

The admiral’s bed — flung over, frame snapped, mattress torn open.  Feathers floating through the air and scattering around the room.  The nightstand next to the bed — lifted over my head and slammed down onto the floor, shattered awkwardly into pieces.  Its single drawer split off awkwardly and spilled letters and trinkets across the floor.  Part of it splintered off as I swung the nightstand down onto the floor and stabbed into my forearm.  I barely felt it.  I didn’t even notice until a spattering of blood started to dribble onto the letters and papers strewn around the floor.

It still wasn’t enough.  It might never be enough.

Go be a hero, he told me.  Go save the world.  I did.  We won.  And all I had to do was kill him.  All I had to do was burn Taurajo.  All I had to do was become the final secret conspirator against our people in time of war, once upon a time.  All I had to do was save traitors, destroy families, forsake all honor in the face of a battle too dire to be won by any other means.

I don’t know how long I can stand to live in this world if these are the choices I have to make to save it.

I was racing around the room in circles, kicking at anything in reach, clawing pictures down off the walls.  Only really half seeing what was around me, just grabbing anything I could, then throwing it or stomping it underfoot or breaking it over one knee.  At some point I found myself spinning in place, roaring madly at nothing, and then threw myself at the table, beating it with both fists, pounding over and over until the wood buckled and the beams split and it all came crashing down and still there I was among the pieces on the floor.

I pulled myself up and looked around the ruins of the room, choking down air in gasps.

This room isn’t big enough.  It isn’t big enough.  Nothing in it is big enough.

I need something bigger.

We march tomorrow.  Theramore burns.

 

 

[Wrathgate (wide shot) image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate.  Professor Putricide, Putress, and Cairne Bloodhoof (living) images provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth; click the links in this sentence to see the souped-up Postcard versions!  All images used here with permission and many thanks.]

What goes around

It’s been four days since the Razing of Northwatch Hold.  We’ve been camped here at the base without a sign of Alliance retaliation.  I’ve been mulling over a few possibilities that are still in play for the next step, and giving our troops time to rest and build up their anticipation for the next battle.  Apparently, though, the down time has just given some of the higher-ups time to stir up trouble for themselves.  You know what they say about idle hands.

Malkorok came to me claiming that a batch of the other leaders were planning to gather to talk mutiny.  I didn’t put much stock in it at first.  It’s no secret that Vol’jin and Baine aren’t crazy about my plan, but in the end, they’re loyal to the Horde.  Malkorok is dedicated to his job, and good at it, but sometimes I think he gets a little overzealous looking for conspiracies and enemies behind every shadow.  Maybe it just comes from all that time in the Blackrock clan under Rend.  Anyway, this sounded like one of those overzealous times.

At least that’s what I thought.

Today, Zixx Grindgear – one of the goblin zeppelin captains – came to see me.  Malkorok wasn’t going to let him in originally, but the little guy managed to convince him he had some news I needed to hear.  When Malkorok brought him to see me, Grindgear claimed that Hamuul Runetotem had asked him to attend a meeting with Baine and others to discuss their…“concerns” about the mission.  At this point, it was too much to brush off, so I told Grindgear to go ahead and attend the meeting.  Malkorok and I wouldn’t be far behind him.

When we left to check up on this meeting – along with a detachment of Kor’kron I was hoping I wouldn’t need – I decided to bring Mokvar along as well, to keep a record or whatever we found.

What we found made my blood boil.

 

Garrosh, Malkorok, and Mokvar approach the tree where several Horde figures have gathered around a campfire: Baine Bloodhoof, Vol’jin, Hamuul Runetotem, Frandis Farley, Kelantir Bloodblade, Captain Zixx Grindgear, first mate Blar Xyzzik, Margolag.  Garrosh et al listen from the nearby bushes as the meeting carries on.

BAINE:  …our purpose here tonight is not to lead an insurrection, but to discuss what he has done up until this point and the wisdom – or lack thereof – of his choices.

FRANDIS:  I serve the Horde.  But it seems the Horde does not serve me, or my lady.  We were once human; I myself once lived in the very city of Stormwind, which is certain to come beating down on us at any moment.  The Alliance is surely aware of what has happened by now, and I think Lady Jaina too wise a leader not to know that Theramore could be next in line to fall.  Yet knowing all this, Lady Sylvanas agreed to send aid to the endeavor.  But to what end?  We are gathered!  The Horde has food, supplies, and for those of you whose blood still flows in your veins, I know that blood burns hot for battle.  Why is he waiting?  Each day that passes, his troops become more uncertain.  This is not wisdom.  This is simply…irresponsibility.

KELANTIR:  I agree with Captain Farley.  His lands and ours are vulnerable if the humans decide to retaliate there instead of sending ships to Theramore.  The swifter the strike, the swifter the reward.  I cannot comprehend why Garrosh delays.  More time serves our enemies and harms us.

BLAR:  I don’t know why he did this in the first place.  Trade Prince Gallywix might see coffers overflowing with gold, but all I see are goblins being used as cannon fodder for no real profit.

VOL’JIN:  You all know da trolls be a proud an’ ancient people.  We joined da Horde because Sen’jin had a vision dat T’rall would help us.  Lead us to safety.  An’ he did.  He was a good leader.  Now T’rall be gone, and Garrosh be in his place.  T’rall, he understand da elements, da spirits.  He be da first new shaman his people had seen in a long, long time.  We understand da elements, da spirits too, an’ I tell ya true now, what dat Garrosh did wit’ his dark shaman – it make da spirits angry.  I don’ know how long he be able to control dose molten giants, an’ if he don’t… Well we all saw da Cataclysm.  Dat was da world in pain from Deat’wing.  How much worse is it gonna be if da elements be in pain from da Horde?  Who you tink dey gonna attack?  It be us, mon.

As Vol’jin speaks, Malkorok steps out of the bushes, accompanied by several Kor’kron, and approaches the group purposefully.

MALKOROK:  Yes, it be you who suffer, mon, but not from the elements!

Some of the group reflexively reach for their weapons.

BAINE:  No!  Lay down your weapons!  Lay them down!

MALKOROK:  The bull speaks wisely.  If I see any weapons in the next three heartbeats, I will slay their owners.

Garrosh steps into the assembly.

GARROSH:  I did not believe it…

The Kor’kron guards circle around the group.

I had word of your little meeting…

Garrosh looks to Zixx Grindgear and nods; Zixx goes to Garrosh and stands uncomfortably behind him.

I came to observe, with my own eyes and ears, what Malkorok said was true.

BAINE:  If you saw and heard it all, then you know that this was not treachery.  No one sought to overthrow you.  No one here chanted “Death to Garrosh.”  What was said here was said out of concern for the Horde, which we are all devoted to.

MALKOROK:  To question the Horde’s Warchief is to question the Horde.

BAINE:  It does so only if, in your mind, two plus two equals five.  Our concerns are valid, Warchief.  Many of us have sought audiences with you so that we might say these things to your face, so what we might have answers or explanations.  The only reason we are gathered here tonight is because you would not see us!

GARROSH:  I do not need to answer to you, tauren.  Or you, troll.  You are not are not not noitarud are setutitsnoc not troll hcihw not siht si not you ti stnemom you tsap fo yromem eht fo gnileef all tneserp eht ot noitidda eht the tuohtiw etats a fo noitaunitnoc on dna scourges yromem tuohtiw ssensuoicsnoc of on si ereht ecnis tnemom yreve war egnahc ton seod hcihw elpmis revewoh dnim fo etats on si ereht the taht noitcejbo the eht not the epacse not tonnac not i not not the not the one we…

[Blinks and shakes his head, then looks around briefly and lets out a frustrated sigh.]

…that is…not the ones we need to worry about.

DRANOSH

True enough.  Still, if they’re backing up and converging in the Deadwind Pass, I’d…Mokvar, are you taking notes?

MOKVAR

[Looks up while frantically writing.]

Hmm?  Wha…oh.  Oh, no, I’m…I mean…maybe?

DRANOSH

[Chuckles.]

Adelene’s official transcript not good enough for you?  And actually, when did you become a scribe in the first place?

MOKVAR

Oh…um…well…  Night classes?

GARROSH

Uh, yeah…I, um, kind of encouraged him to expand his interests.

MOKVAR

Under pain of…well, pain.

DRANOSH

Wait, what?

GARROSH

Never mind.

MOKVAR

Yeah, so, um, how about them demons?

DRANOSH

[Perks an eyebrow but turns back to Zaela.]

Right…so… If they are converging on Deadwind, I’d like to have an idea of what they’re doing.

ZAELA

Do you want to send a scouting party to gather more intel?

DRANOSH

Maybe something that doesn’t put our people so much in harm’s way.  I’m wondering if some of our warlocks could determine anything about the demons’ activity.

EITRIGG

I can ask around in the Cleft of Shadows and see if Neeru Fireblade and the others think they can do anything.

DRANOSH

Good enough for a start.

GARROSH

What’s the state of the Silvermoon evacuation?

ZAELA

The last few gunships should be leaving by the end of the day.

EITRIGG

We’re sure the magic barrier around Quel’Danas will hold?

DRANOSH

It should.  Those incantations patched together the strongest warding magics the Sha’tari, Argent Crusade, and Kirin Tor have to offer.

MAGATHA

Basically, if they don’t hold, there likely wasn’t anything we could have set in place that would.

ZAELA

Once the last of the Silvermoon contingent gets here, we can redeploy as need be around Kalimdor or Northrend.

GARROSH

By the way, speaking of which, who was that guy leading the blood elf regiments at Elrendar?  That guy was pretty badass – I saw him make short work of a TON of those Scourge.

DRANOSH

You mean Lor’themar?

GARROSH

Is that his name?  Sounds familiar.  Who is he?

DRANOSH

Um, he’s Regent-Lord of Quel’thalas.

GARROSH

…Oh?

MOKVAR

Yeah, uh, leader of the blood elves?

GARROSH

Oh, don’t YOU start acting like you always remember—

MOKVAR

Ahem.

GARROSH

Uh, yeah, never mind.  Anyway, that guy bears watching for other missions, is all I’m saying.

ZAELA

You’ll have the chance to work with him again soon enough.  He and Liadrin will be arriving on the last gunship, once they’ve seen that the last of the evacuees are out.

DRANOSH

I assume Lady Liadrin will want to rejoin the other Argent forces in Northrend.

ZAELA

I would think so.

EITRIGG

We’ve also had a request from Lady Proudmoore for supplementary forces to be sent to Theramore.

GARROSH

[Bristles briefly.]

Might…uh…that might be a good spot for some of the incoming Silvermoon troops…

DRANOSH

Agreed.

MAGATHA

Perhaps a combined detachment of some of the incoming blood elves and a platoon or two of our troops from somewhere like Feralas?

GARROSH

[Glaring at Magatha.]

Since when are you an expert on troop deployment?

MAGATHA

I’m not, certainly.  I merely suppose it might be beneficial to send support from multiple quarters of the Horde.

EITRIGG

It would be a positive gesture diplomatically…

MAGATHA

And I only suggest Feralas because, at present, there’s very little activity there, so we could likely spare the personnel.

GARROSH

I’d just as soon not weaken any of our stable positions is all, though.

DRANOSH

It’s worth considering, but I would agree with Garrosh – if we’re going to divert any Kalimdor units, it might be a better plan to send a regiment or two from Camp Taurajo.

[Garrosh glances to Mokvar, smiling faintly.]

Speaking of which, Garrosh, while we’re talking about sending support to Theramore, I want to get your opinion.  I’ve been thinking it would be a good idea to deploy a standing officer for our forces in Theramore, to provide military advice and represent the Horde in command decisions.

GARROSH

Makes sense.

DRANOSH

I’m considering General Krom’gar.  You’ve worked with him before, haven’t you?  What do you think?

GARROSH

[Glances uneasily at Mokvar.]

Oh… Umm…

DRANOSH

Is something wrong?

GARROSH

Well…to tell the truth… Krom’gar’s a good soldier and all, but…I’m not sure he’s someone I would want to point to and say “This guy represents the Horde.”  I guess you might say he has some…temperament issues.

DRANOSH

[Smirking.]

Pot, kettle?

GARROSH

[Grinning.]

Hey, you asked.

DRANOSH

Hmm.  Well I’ll have a look at a few other options.  In the meantime…do we have any other business, Warlord?

ZAELA

That covers all the scouting reports, Warchief.

DRANOSH

In that case, I think that’s meeting adjourned.

[Eitrigg and Zaela start gathering documents from the conference table.]

MAGATHA

Warchief, a minor question if I may?

DRANOSH

What is it, Magatha?

MAGATHA

As we’re done here, might I make use of the war room for a brief meeting with General Grebo?

[Garrosh bristles at the name and glares at Magatha.]

I have an appointment with him momentarily, and, not knowing how long our meeting would run today, asked him to meet me here.

DRANOSH

That’s fine, Magatha.  I need to make a few stops around Orgrimmar anyway.

[Grins as he walks to the door.]

No crazy parties while I’m out.

MAGATHA

Thank you, Warchief.  Good day.

Dranosh’s scribe’s record stops here, so time to kick it back over to Mokvar…

Dranosh exits the Grommash Hold war room, accompanied by Eitrigg and scribe Adelene Sunlace.  Warlord Zaela follows close behind.

GARROSH:  <calling after the others>  You all go on, I’ll catch up in a minute.  I just need to talk to Mokvar about something for a minute.

MAGATHA:  I can go if you wish, Overlord.  Would you prefer privacy?

Magatha begins to walk past Garrosh, heading toward the door.

GARROSH:  Actually, some privacy would definitely be a good thing.

As Magatha passes, Garrosh suddenly strikes her with his fist, knocking her to the ground.  She cries out as she falls, then looks around in confusion.

MAGATHA:  What— Overlord, what is it?

Garrosh grabs her by her cloak and flings her across the room, away from the door.

GARROSH:  What is it?  Oh, oh, Magatha, I wouldn’t even know where to start…

Garrosh walks past Magatha – striking her down again as he passes – and toward the platform on which the Warchief’s chair stands.

GARROSH:  <looking to Mokvar from the Warchief’s seat>  Only a couple things badly out of place in this world, wouldn’t you say?

Garrosh reaches above the Warchief’s seat and pulls Gorehowl from the wall, where it hangs on display in honor of Grom Hellscream.  Garrosh turns and walks back toward Magatha, wielding the axe.

MAGATHA:  Overlord!  Garrosh!  You mustn’t!  I— I— I haven’t done anything!

GARROSH:  And you never will.

Garrosh swings Gorehowl down furiously, slashing Magatha’s head from her body.

MOKVAR:  Garrosh…you…

GARROSH:  Is this the part where you try to tell me this one was innocent?  Really?

MOKVAR:  No… I mean… I just…

Footsteps come from the entrance to the war room.  Seconds later, General Grebo enters and immediately gawks at the sight of Magatha’s headless body across the room.

GREBO:  <running over to the body>  What— what happened here?  What have you done?

GARROSH:  It’s funny you should ask, Grebo…

Garrosh eyes Grebo for a moment, then walks up to him and pushes Gorehowl into his hands.

What we’ve done…is hear a commotion in here, then come back to find you standing over what’s left of Magatha Grimtotem with the bloody axe still in your hands.  <looks back at Mokvar>  Isn’t that right, Mokvar?

GREBO:  Wh-what?!

GARROSH:  Isn’t it, Mokvar?

MOKVAR:  <nods slowly>  That’s the way I remember it.

GREBO:  But…I…Overlord, you…

GARROSH:  And to think…you just helped yourself to Gorehowl to use as the murder weapon…

Garrosh stands eye to eye with Grebo, tapping on Gorehowl with one finger.

That axe belonged to my father, you know.  Did you know that, Grebo?

GREBO:  <looking back and forth, panicked, between Garrosh, Mokvar, and Gorehowl>  But I…sir, you just…I don’t…

GARROSH:  And I’ll be DAMNED before I let someone stroll in and tarnish my family’s honor like that, Grebo.

Garrosh grabs Gorehowl and yanks it back out of Grebo’s hands.

My mother taught me that.

GREBO:  Garrosh…Overlord…you can’t possibly be serious—

MOKVAR:  Is he resisting arrest?  Sounds to me like he’s maybe resisting arrest.

GARROSH:  You know, I think you may be right.  <to Grebo>  Please resist arrest.  Please.

 

On the down side, Grebo didn’t put up much more of an argument.  Probably because he was too baffled to come up with much more to say, but whatever.  I don’t need to know the details from this world.  The fact that he had SOMETHING going on with Magatha, considering he was on the take in our reality, is all I needed to hear.

We handed him over to Dranosh traight away.  I thought at least THEN he would have tried to put up an argument, but no.  HE just kept quiet – resigned.  I suppose I can’t blame him.  He knew as well as I did – Dranosh didn’t need to hear any more than the account Mokvar and I gave him.  What chance was there he would ever listen to the likes of Grebo over me?

It didn’t take long to be settled.  Dranosh sentenced Grebo sentenced Grebo Grebo ytienatnatsni sentenced ylno grebo settled tub grebo noitarud on grebo dranosh eb dluow dranosh ereht tneserp eht otni tsap eht fo lavivrus siht tuohtiw all redlo worg ew sa su dniheb gard ew daol reivaeh llits dna reivaeh eht the ytilauq fo egnahc launitnoc sti yb gniwohs yldnuoforp scourges erom ro tsap eht fo egami gniworg ylsselesaec eht mrof tcnitsid of a ni ti nihtiw gniniatnoc rehtie tneserp eht tneserp war eht otni tsap eht sgnolorp hcihw yromem a fo two efil suounitnoc two eht phase two si phase noitarud phase renni phase phase two phase two is ready to go, on my go-ahead.  We should be poised for a great victory, and all the while all I hear are complaints and objections.  One outburst of dissent after another, keeping Malkorok a dozen times busier than I ever thought he would need to be.

And you know, here’s the thing.  I never asked for this job.  Thrall appointed me as Warchief in his place because he thought I represented the best option for the Horde, and since then I’ve done everything I could think to do to secure our future and assure our rightful place in the world – in a position of strength.  People forget that ever since the Burning Legion came to Draenor, our people have gone from one brand of slavery to another – to the demons, to the blood haze, to the humans.  Never again.  I’ve tried to guarantee that our people would never again call someone or something else master.  If the humans and elves need to be put in their place in the process, so be it.  If the humans end up paying for some of what they’ve done to our kind, all the better.

And yet all I hear, over and over, are the objections.  Try to secure our place in Kalimdor, and it’s “Garrosh, you mustn’t!”  Go to war with the ENEMY WE ARE SUPPOSEDLY AT WAR WITH, and hear nothing but “Oh Garrosh, how could you?”  You know, maybe Dranosh was on to something in that other world.  As much as it sickens me to imagine working with the humans – “Sure, you held our fathers in internment camps and almost broke our entire civilization, but sure, no hard feelings!” – maybe it’s just less of a damn headache.

And you know what?  Who’s to say that this timeline – the world we’re in now – is the one that was supposed to happen?

All I know is that I look around in that world, and see people still alive who deserve to be, and people dead who deserve the same.  Dranosh and Cairne, and Patrick Faranell and the family he should have had the chance to have.  Magatha.  Grebo.  No goddamn war for everyone to bitch and moan about, and someone else in this job to listen to the bitching rather than me.  Someone BETTER at it than me.

But this world, the one that’s supposed to be the right one?  Everything is backwards.  Upside down.  Nothing is the way it should be.  So you know what?  Bring on the other world.  Let it bleed on in.  Soridormi said Faranell’s become a shatter point in time?  Then bring him here so I can kick the cracks and make them crack faster.  Sure, we’ll have to find something to do for Faranell.  We can’t leave him doomed to spend forever bouncing around in time.  But we WILL find something.  We always do – we find ourselves in these situations, and agonize and torment ourselves until we find that magic escape clause.  We’ll save him somehow.

But this world we’re in now – this one is the nightmare.  A little longer, and we’ll all finally be able to wake up.

And all I have to do is sit here and do nothing.

Lines of inquiry

A few days ago, Saurfang had sent a courier to me with kind of an irritated letter asking to see me.  He had some objections to certain operations going on in Northrend, so I agreed to set aside some time today for him to come down and discuss things in person.

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant meeting.

You’re up, Mokvar.

 

Saurfang enters, accompanied by two Kor’kron guards who aren’t nearly as badass as him.

GARROSH:  Morning, Saurfang.

NAZGRIM:  Good morning, High Overlord.

SAURFANG:  Morning it is, gentlemen, but I’m hardly convinced it is a good one.

GARROSH:  Oh great.  It’s that bad, huh?

SAURFANG:  Indeed, Warchief.

GARROSH:  Okay, well, let’s get it out in the open, then.  What’s the problem, Saurfang?

SAURFANG:  Let me speak plainly, Warchief.  Is it your intention to replace me as High Overlord of the Kor’kron Guard?

GARROSH:  What?  No.  Why would I want to do that?  You built those troops up from ground level yourself.

SAURFANG:  <nodding grimly>  Have I, then, been unknowingly relieved of duty as commanding officer of our Northrend forces?

GARROSH:  Oh, wait.  I think I see where this is going.

SAURFANG:  Have I been relieved, Warchief?

GARROSH:  Saurfang, if I ever relieve you of duty, you’ll know from the way I pick you up and throw you from a very great height.

MOKVAR:  Like to see you try that…

GARROSH:  Not the time, Mokvar.

SAURFANG:  In that case, Warchief, I am left to assume that I remain in command of our Northrend operations.

GARROSH:  <sighs>  Yes, Saurfang, you’re still in command.

SAURFANG:  And in that case, Warchief, I would be most interested in hearing the explanation for a team of Horde operatives arriving at Warsong Hold claiming to be undertaking a mission, the details of which they were not at liberty to divulge to the command officer under whose jurisdiction they were operating.

NAZGRIM:  With all due respect, High Overlord, the men in question are operating under the—

SAURFANG:  If I require your thoughts on this matter, General, you may rest assured that I will instruct you to share them.

MOKVAR:  Oh man, shit just got real…

GARROSH:  Mokvar!

MOKVAR:  Sorry, boss.

GARROSH:  Here’s the thing, Saurfang.

SAURFANG:  Indeed, Warchief, by all means do elucidate me on the thing.

GARROSH:  <glares briefly>  The men who arrived at Warsong Hold are working on a mission under the supervision of General Nazgrim here, and under my direct sanctions.  And since they’re working under my orders, and aren’t Kor’kron operatives, no, they are NOT under your jurisdiction.

SAURFANG:  I see.  And is there a reason, then, why I am not authorized even to know about this very important mission?

GARROSH:  Look, I know you don’t like being kept in kept in in nway kept gnittolbyks in being desiop in eno ni in dont meht nopu dont nwod thgindim fo egakcerw eht lruh ot tub egakcerw shatter otni thgindim lruh ot ton ti htiw thgindim point gniggard tub thgindim drawot ton deraor emit fo ecarllim tsav eht in moor tilpmal in teiuq kept in eht kept edistuo kept elihw kept kept in kept in the dark, Saurfang.

DRANOSH

Is was a necessary – wait, did you just call me “Saurfang”?  Since when do you call me “Saurfang”?  Saurfang is my dad.

GARROSH

Wait, wasn’t I just…?  Oh.  Right…  Don’t mind me.  You’re looking more and more like him all the time.

DRANOSH

Don’t even joke about that.

GARROSH

Anyway, though, you were saying?

DRANOSH

I know you don’t like being kept in the dark, Garrosh, but we didn’t want word leaking out about what we’d uncovered.

GARROSH

Which would be…?

NAZGRIM

On our last sweep around the islands just south of the Maelstrom, we found a…well, a survivor, sir.

VOL’JIN

By da spirits, ya mean ya—

DRANOSH

No, not him, Vol’jin.  Unfortunately.

NAZGRIM

He’s…humanoid.  That’s pretty much all we can say.  Not any species I’ve ever seen before.  Everything he had to say on his own just came out as a bunch of rubbish, and I wanted to bring him back here where we could all hear it before I tried to question him any further.

GARROSH

Is there anything particularly suspicious about him that we’re questioning him…

[Garrosh trails off and bristles as he looks across the room and notices – then stares at – MAGATHA GRIMTOTEM.]

VOL’JIN

Garrosh?

GARROSH

What…is she doing here?

MAGATHA

High Overlord?  Why would I not be here?  The Warchief has always welcomed my counsel on internal Horde matters…

GARROSH

[Bristles for another moment, then shakes his head vigorously.]

Right.  Never mind.  I’m just… My head’s just somewhere else.

MOKVAR

Somewhere…

DRANOSH

Are you going to be okay for this?  If you need a head shrinker, I’m sure Vol’jin could arrange—

GARROSH

I’ll be fine.

NAZGRIM

Shall we bring him in, then?

DRANOSH

We may as well.

[Nazgrim signals to a guard, who steps into an adjoining room.  A moment later, two guards enter with a humanoid – smaller in stature than an orc and similar in features to a monkey.  The guards flank him on each side and hold his arms loosely while leading him in.  His head hangs low.]

NAZGRIM

He calls himself “Zhi-Zhi.”  He says he was an initiate at some sort of monastery in a place called the Jade Forest before the Rupturing.  Then the land he comes from was devastated by the resulting earthquakes and tidal waves, and wound up being washed onto the island where we found him.  Or so he says, from what I could gather.

[The guards lead ZHI-ZHI into the room.  When they stop moving, Zhi-Zhi looks up and sees Garrosh.  Zhi-Zhi’s eyes widen with a look of surprise.]

ZHI-ZHI

[Stares wide-eyed at Garrosh, reaching with one hand to point at him.]

Ohh…

[Suddenly pulls his hand back and shakes his head.]

Not the one.

GARROSH

The hell?

VOL’JIN

[Eyes narrowing.]

Not da one what, mon?

ZHI-ZHI

[Shakes his head, then points to Garrosh again with a chuckle.]

No, no, not the one.

GARROSH

[Striding up to Zhi-Zhi.]

Not the one WHAT?

NAZGRIM

That’s really just a small sampling of the kind of lunacy he’s been spouting nonstop since we found him.

GARROSH

Not WHAT one?

ZHI-ZHI

Not the one!

GARROSH

[Rearing back and striking Zhi-Zhi with each word.]

What.  Does.  That.  MEAN?

ZHI-ZHI

AAH!  Alright, enough, enough!  STOP HITTING ZHI-ZHI!

DRANOSH

Garrosh, enough.

GARROSH

I’ll start hitting a whole lot harder if you don’t start talking some sense.

DRANOSH

Zhi-Zhi.

[Zhi-Zhi looks past Garrosh to Dranosh.]

My name is Dranosh.

VOL’JIN

It be meanin’ “Heart of Draenor” in—

DRANOSH

Don’t start, Vol’jin.

VOL’JIN

Sorry, mon.

DRANOSH

[Turns his attention back to Zhi-Zhi.]

I’m the Warchief – the leader – of a people called the Horde.  As long as you’re here, you’re under our protection and safe.  We want to help you, but first you have to help us understand.

[Zhi-Zhi slowly nods.]

This is Garrosh.  You said he’s…“not the one”?  Did you think you recognized him from somewhere?

ZHI-ZHI

Yes.  No.  Yes.  Zhi-Zhi… Zhi-Zhi not sure.

DRANOSH

Where did you think you’d recognized him from?

ZHI-ZHI

When Zhi-Zhi first come to Tian, Elder Cloudfall show Zhi-Zhi the place.  Show Zhi-Zhi the visions.  Zhi-Zhi saw…saw the cracks, looked into the cracks, saw more cracks, more, growing, everywhere cracks, cracks, cracking… Zhi-Zhi tried to warn, but oh, no, nobody listen to poor Zhi-Zhi…

VOL’JIN

Hmm…visions, eh, mon?

GARROSH

Listen, you blathering idiot, what does any of that even mean, and what could it POSSIBLY have to do with do with with tsap do flah with have rehto with eht gnitteg with to fo syaw to gnitnevni ti fo flah tneps eh tey emit saw derrohba shatter dna deraef eh htaed eht dna point mih neewteb doots taht lla emit saw dah nam taht lla dias to dah elcnu to sih have to woh have gnirebmemer have gnikniht have have to have to do with me?

Garrosh does a double take, shaking his head.

SAURFANG:  What does it not have to do with you, Garrosh?  The secrets, the infighting, the distrust against supposed countrymen – I have seen it before, and I will not stand idly by and let it take root without even the aid of demon blood.

GARROSH:  Saurfang, we’re talking about one single mission which, believe me, has more than enough reason for maximum security.

SAURFANG:  And a disregard for the chain of command.

GARROSH:  Legionnaire Nazgrim doesn’t…wait, Legionnaire?  No, General Nazgrim…

MOKVAR:  <muttering>  Not the one…

Garrosh looks at Mokvar in surprise for a moment, then collects himself.

GARROSH:  General Nazgrim is running the operation, and he doesn’t answer to you.

SAURFANG:  Indeed he does not, it would seem.  And while the good Legionnaire was recently promoted to General, unless he has also received further clandestine promotions all way past High Overlord—

GARROSH:  He doesn’t answer to YOU because he answers to ME.  Just like these men don’t answer to you because THEY answer to ME.  And I am beginning to TIRE of your coming down here to argue jurisdiction and technicalities when it should be abundantly clear EVERYTHING is being done under MY AUTHORITY.

SAURFANG:  And by exactly what authority are you holding your other leaders at arm’s length?

GARROSH:  I AM YOUR WARCHIEF, SAURFANG!

SAURFANG:  THRALL is my Warchief!  And you, boy, are warming his seat.

Garrosh glares at Saurfang for a moment.

MOKVAR:  Oh shit.

Mokvar and Nazgrim both take a few steps back.

GARROSH:  So now it comes out.

SAURFANG:  I may have been the first to have said it, Warchief, but I assure you I am far from the first to have thought it.

GARROSH:  Saurfang…you’ve been a hero of our people for many years, and because of that I’m going let this one time pass.  If you were any other man, I would have killed you right here and now.

SAURFANG:  You would have tried.

Mokvar and Nazgrim take a few more steps back.

GARROSH:  Go back to your station, old man.

SAURFANG:  Indeed, Warchief.  I will retire to Northrend.  And as I am no longer privy to all that goes on there, I will trust that there is nothing being done that would bring dishonor to our people.  And should I learn that that trust has been misplaced…well…as you say, Warchief, we each have but a single free pass, as the saying goes.

Saurfang turns and leaves.  Garrosh lets out a frustrated sigh, then eyes Mokvar and Nazgrim.

GARROSH:  What are you staring at?  We have work to do.

 

So…obviously a lot going on.  But honestly I’m in no mood to talk about the Saurfang thing right now.

Besides that, though…I remember.  I remember the whole thing now, when I…well…flashed to wherever I was, with Dranosh and that monkey guy and holy fuck Magatha are you fucking kidding me.  I really remember it – not all fuzzy and blurry and dream-like.  What’s more, I just got to talking with Mokvar.  He remembers being there too.  Apparently he’s been experiencing the same thing the last couple days.  We compared notes a little as far as what we experienced, and it sounds eerily similar to those flashbacks that Faranell was complaining about when we went to see him in Hearthglen.

All of us having these flashes is way too big a coincidence.  It all started when we brought Faranell back from the past, so I’m going to arrange to pick Faranell up from Tirion, and then have all of us head down to the Caverns of Time.  I think it’s time we went over this with Nozdormu.

Happy birthday, Baine

I’m writing from Thunder Bluff.  Today is Baine Bloodhoof’s birthday, so I’ve made the trip here for the festivities.  Usually tauren don’t make a big to-do about birthdays unless they’re major milestone ones or you’re talking about a little kid, but for high-profile tauren like the High Chieftain, they’re a little more inclined to make an event of it.  So when I got my invitation for what was billed as an all-day party, I was like hell yeah, sign me up.

Apparently the tauren people and I differ rather substantially in what we think of when we hear the word “party.”

First of all, NO CAKE.  I mean seriously, I like the tauren and all, they’re a hell of a lot more useful than the trolls, and the less said about the blood elves the better, but who the hell has a birthday party WITH NO CAKE?  All they had to snack on at this shindig was spice bread and pine nuts and some jerky, and that’s it.  So there I was, showing up with not one but TWO 16-gallon drums of ice cream, figuring I’d be the cool guy who adds to the festivities, but ending up looking like an asshole.

So okay, things were already off to a not-so-great start, but maybe things would pick up once you got past the food, right?  Maybe some kind of entertainment?  Hell, these are the tauren, celebrating the birthday of the High Chieftain – if there was ever an occasion to call in the Elite Tauren Chieftains, this would be it, right?  WRONG.

What do the tauren do to celebrate birthdays?  HOLD ON TIGHT, let me tell you.  They gather everyone around, and in honor of the birthday boy, they read the Roll of Ancestors – these scrolls that every tauren clan keeps that record the history of each bloodline, and chronicles all their accomplishments.  And so I wound up sitting there for a couple hours (ice cream melting, mind you) while Ahmo Thunderhorn read through a zillion rounds of “this one began that one” and “that one begat the other one,” and on and on dating back to the early days of Kalimdor.  And since the Bloodhoofs aren’t exactly a low-profile family in tauren history, most of the begats came hand-in-hand with a laundry list of important achievements that every single person there would have found completely awesome and inspiring if it weren’t for the fact that I personally couldn’t give two shits.

Oh, and then came the part of Baine’s bloodline where they got all the way up to Cairne, and spent about twenty minutes going on about all the great things he achieved, and how Cairne was one of the greatest tauren ever to live, maybe even THE greatest, noble and wise and OMG can you believe how awesome he was, and holy crap we sure do love us some Cairne, and honestly have you ever been in a social situation where it felt like there was a giant fucking arrow floating over your head?  Yeah, that was me at that point.

As it turns out, there actually WAS an arrow over my head.  It was a Hunter’s Mark.  Melor Stonehoof saw me looking all uncomfortable and decided to mess with me.  Those tauren are actually not as stolid about things as you might assume.

Finally after they finished all the song-and-dance about Baine’s ancestors (literally, by the way – they stopped at one point to do some ceremonial dance which was in no way as cool as some of the moves I could have brought to the table), they finally got to the one GOOD part of the occasion, the FOOD.  No cake, granted, but at least the tauren DO know how to put down a feast.  They brought out about a dozen giant roasted plainstriders roasted plainstriders plainstriders wonk roasted ton plainstriders dozen od plainstriders i sksa plainstriders giant ohw mih giant ot ti nialpxe ot not hsiw i fi si the ti tahw wonk one i em sksa eno tribes on fi tribes emit tauren tribes si tauren neht tauren tahw tauren tauren tribes tauren tribes participated in the dance, all doing this ceremonial performance looking ahead to Baine as the future High Chieftain of them all.  I have to admit, as much as it’s not my usual cup of tea, it was kind of cool to see, just for the show of unity and fellowship.  Hell, even stony-face Magatha cracked a smile over it.

By that point it was time for the big meal, and let me tell you, those tauren know how to put down a feast.  Have I talked about this before?  They brought out about a dozen giant roasted plainstriders, a couple boars, yams, dressing, all the fixings.  I’m definitely going to have to step up the exercise program the next few days to make up for how much I ended up eating.

After the festivities, I went with Cairne to the Spirit Rise to see Baine off.  Cairne was all sorry to see him heading back to Northrend.  Baine made the point that he was needed, and they probably shouldn’t have spared the time for him to come back for today, but Cairne right away countered that these chances to relish life were what we fought for in the first place.  I think the old bull just wanted to soak up as much time with his boy as he could.  Can’t say I can blame him.  Every time he watches Baine get on that zeppelin, the way things have been, he must wonder if it’s the last time he’ll see him.

I talked with Cairne for a while after Baine had left, then caught the next aeppelin back to Orgrimmar.  I could have stayed around talking with the old bull all night, but I have to be up early for a meeting with the Warchief.  I’ll update again after that’s done.

Happy birthday, Baine.  Aka’Magosh.

Monday mailbag

So not only have I not really done a decent mailbag in a while (the last one really opened up a pretty big can of worms, to be fair), but in light of recent events, I actually have a pretty serious influx of stuff to respond to.  Let’s get right to the mail…

 

Hey Garrosh,

In light of everything you’ve been going through, I decided to take a trip to Demon Fall Canyon to pay my respects to Grom and Lakkara both.  I’ve included a picture of myself at Grom’s monument below.  Also, while you were traveling to Nagrand this week, I took the liberty of writing a post on the blog to encourage your readers to do the same.  Hopefully they’ll follow my lead and send you some photographic proof that we’re all behind you, and thinking of you while you deal with everything that’s happened.

If you ever need anything,

–Spazzle Fizzletrinket, Orgrimmar

Thanks, Spazzle.  Much appreciated.  As it turns out, a bunch of other people did follow your lead, and my inbox ended up sort of flooded with e-mails and links from people chronicling their own visits.  Here’s a smattering from folks who didn’t include an actual letter:

 

And a bunch here that Leit over at int i; posted as part of a full blog entry on the…well…pilgrimages, I guess, that Spazzle set off:

Hail, Warchief!

Condolences on the … recent disturbing events. It’s hard enough to lose a parent once, let alone twice. Know that the Horde grieves with you.

In other news, guess who I ran into the other day? None other than Faranell, the “new guy” in your guild. One of your Kor’kron guards has developed a rather innovative method for controlling the pace of Faranell’s research. He occasionally punts an abomination’s head into the sewers.

That’s Faranell in the middle, and Overseer Kraggosh on the right. He seems to be doing a fine job.

And lastly, Bowling for Wildhammer. You should try it.

(And yes, that’s an atypical hairstyle for one of us. I learned long ago that long, flowing locks and high-torque power shafts DO NOT play well together.)

–A Concerned Citizen

Hey ACC, good to hear from you, and thanks for the show of support.  It’s been a rough couple of weeks, but I’ll manage.  Granted, I’ll sleep a lot better once ol’ You-Know-Who is finally captured and properly dismembered.

Speaking of dissected bodies, thanks as well for checking in on things in the Undercity.  Did you happen to see any signs of Koltira Deathweaver while you were down there, by the way?  Haven’t heard from him in months, and last anybody heard he was helping Sylvanas with some stuff out in the Plaguelands.  Anyway…I’m sure the boys are keeping things under control down there.  I’m still not totally sold on Bragor Bloodfist and the job he’s doing with the watching-Sylvanas-but-not-necessarily-in-the-right-way, but I’m sure Overseer Kraggosh is taking care of business.  I actually gave him the Apothecarium assignment deliberately, in the hopes that maybe working down there could help grease the wheels on moving him up on the list of potential “donor” organ recipients.  Not to jinx things, but the guy has a really bad family history, heart disease and such, to the point that most of the family pretty much treats it as a foregone conclusion.  Want to know how bad it is?  The name “Kraggosh”?  Means “Heart of Cholesterol” in orcish.  Yeah.

Also, Bowling for Wildhammer?  You’ve got to fill me in on this one.  Strangely enough, for all the meetings I’ve had with Zaela, somehow she never mentioned this little diversion in Twilight Highlands.  Seriously, they’ve got some kind of blood sport out there called Bowling for Wildhammer, and she’s wasting my time trying to fucking push some damn SUSHI place on me over and over?  The fuck?

 

Greetings Warchief!

Spazzle suggested we attempt to cheer you up by sending you letters and pictures of us honoring your dearly departed father and mother.  I kept trying to take decent shots, but my stupid pet kept ruining my pictures.  The attached one is the best one I have with out any sort of shenanigans.

While I am writing I would like to ask you a question.  Have you ever considered settling down and starting a family?  I am from the Armripper clan who has made a good showing in all the conflicts.  I am young but not too young.  I was a part of the events in Northrend and was there to help kill the Litch King.  I was also helpful in bringing down Deathwing and the Twilight Cult.

The only deal breaker for me is that I must be able to keep my full stable of pets near me (ie in the house at all times).  I love my pets so much and would never be able to settle down with a man that did not respect that.  I have 25 of them, mostly large felines of various colorings.  Each one is precious to me.

Awaiting your reply,

–Toka Armripper

Oh great.  We’ve got another one.

I actually think I remember you from Northrend, Toka, from when I joined the troops in Icecrown Citadel to deliver Hellscream’s Warsong.  My memory’s a little fuzzy on one point, though — you weren’t on of those fuckers who had a problem with the Warsong and wanted me to stop singing, were you?  Because I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms, I have an enchanting singing voice, I don’t care what any of you people say.

I’m also totally fine with the pet thing.  I mean, 25 cats is maybe a bit much, especially since you say you’re young, seeing as the Crazy Cat Lady thing usually doesn’t start kicking in until middle age at the earliest.  (Also, that thing you said about being “young, but not too young”?  Is this your way of telling me that you’re, you know, legal?  Because assuming we’re talking over 18 here, “too young”?  Ain’t no such thing.  If there’s grass on the field, play ball.)  But I get the appeal of pets — obviously I’m pretty attached to Mortimer, and he would definitely be a dealbreaker for me too, and I also have my worg Malak, who doesn’t get as much press as Mortimer does but also isn’t negotiable.  So I get it.

That said, gotta be honest, I haven’t really given a whole lot of thought to settling down any time soon.  For one thing, I have way too many things to focus on that are a lot bigger than just me.  I have a war to win and humans to exterminate and the glorious future of an Azeroth-dominating Horde to secure, and my time and energy is going to be a lot better spent on that stuff than running around filling out a gift registry (which by the way, am I the only one who thinks that’s a fucking tacky idea in the first place? “Hey, here’s a list of the stuff we want you to buy us, because getting married all of sudden means we get to act like we’re 10 years old and everyone we know is Greatfather fucking Winter”) and getting measured for a tux.  Which, also by the way, I don’t do bow ties.  Chafe my neck something awful.

But even beyond that, have you SEEN Thrall since he got married?  Look, I didn’t always agree with him, but even I wouldn’t hesitate to admit the guy was a badass.  Now?  Have you seen how he lets Aggra lead him around by the nose?  I mean hell, even when he was busy fighting Deathwing, there he was, him and the Aspects and a collection of some of the Horde’s greatest champions, and they narrowly pull off this nail-biter victory that saves the world, and right in their moment of glory and triumph who just SHOWS THE FUCK UP like she OWNS the place?  Yeah.  Aggra.  No thanks.

Besides, why would I want to settle down?  Let’s be honest here — there’s a reason why I’ve ended up having to replace my bed upstairs in Grommash Hold 37 times since I took over as Warchief, and believe you me, it ain’t faulty craftsmanship.

Back to Azeroth

Back home in Orgrimmar.  It was a long trip, but definitely worth it.  Other than the gateway herbage.  But the less said about that the better.

I’m mostly going to spend the day getting settled back in and resting some, plus starting to sift through my mail for this week – looks like there’s a fair amount for some reason.  Then I can start check on how big a mess Eitrigg and the others made while I was away that I get to clean up now.

One thing that I’ve been thinking about on the trip back though.  When Magatha wrote to me a week or so ago, she made a passing reference to Grebo having been helping her “for a price.”  That really kind of sticks in my craw, the idea that Grebo was actually working for Magatha back in the day, but it also kind of makes sense the more I think of it.  I even got a letter ages ago that was intended for Grebo – dead by that point – thanking him for his work in Stonetalon, and mentioning something about reimbursement, and it was just signed “MGT.”  At the time I just figured it was from the management of some business Grebo was working with on the side.  Never thought to make the connection MGT = Magatha GrimTotem…

Not to mention, I always wondered why that little pocket of Grimtotem up there in Stonetalon were able to remain such a nuisance, with all the personnel we’ve moved into the area.  Hell, I even commented once on how quickly Overlord Cliffwalker managed to crack down on the Grimtotem up there after he replaced Krom’gar.  I just thought maybe it was a tauren pride thing.  But no, when Cliffwalker took over for Krom’gar, that was the same time that Grebo died too.  And Grebo being Krom’gar’s XO, it makes sense he would have had plenty of chances to manipulate things to give Magatha’s people breathing room.

So that little snippet of news helps make sense of a few things.  Still, it gnaws at me that he was working for Magatha at all in the first place.  Granted Grebo was an asshole to begin with, so in a way it’s kind of a relief that he wasn’t totally on board with us, but still, it’s grating to think Magatha could have gotten one of our officers in her pocket like that.  Oh well.  Guess it’s just one more reason to turn the torture up to eleven when we finally catch her, right?

 

 

[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]