Archive for warlocks

Desperate Times

Posted in Words from a Scribe with tags , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2013 by Garrosh Hellscream

orgrimmar11

Neeru Fireblade may very well have been right about the Council of the Black Harvest not being willing to talk to me, but for now that’s going to need to be a “cross that bridge when I come to it” concern.  For now, the much bigger problem is going to be finding them.  My best in is probably going to be Ritssyn, given his Orgrimmar ties, but he’s still far from a sure thing, and even that’s assuming I can track him down.  He was supposedly on his way to the Firelands, but that’s not exactly a place to go take a casual stroll alone without really knowing what you’re getting into, especially if you’re like me and your command of the elements leaves a lot to be desired in the first place.

So, I’m going to need to take the indirect approach to this.  I have Ji out helping me with part of it; this morning he left to do some investigating for me in Desolace.  Meanwhile, I just came from a private meeting with Eitrigg.  At least I think it was private.  I didn’t notice any stealthy whooshy sounds while I was there, but who knows?

I gathered from Eitrigg that Garrosh isn’t exactly thrilled with what he’s been hearing about me – no shock there – but he hasn’t sent along any specific orders where I’m concerned yet.  Considering that he’s known me for several years now, Eitrigg’s willing to give me the benefit of the doubt for the time being, although even he expressed concern about whether I’m sure I know what I’m doing.  The truth of the matter is, the last thing in the world that I am right now is sure, but circumstances aren’t affording me a luxury of options.

Still, without showing too much of my hand, I managed to persuade him to let me borrow one of the sets of diplomatic tabards and banners that we issues to the emissaries we send various places.  While I have those colors displayed – and remain visibly unarmed – I’ll be allowed free passage into nearly any territory, including within Alliance borders.

I’m about to take a trip to Ironforge.

Right now, I can’t really go into more detail than that.  Ultimately, if things work out the way I hope they will, you’ll understand why.  Still, I know I’m taking a considerable risk here, but it’s a necessary one.  If I don’t have this all resolved and accounted for by the time Garrosh gets back from Pandaria, he’s more likely to have my head on a platter than anything else; and if these spectral assassins keep coming after me, I’m just as dead.  Even with Garona watching over me – which I’m sure she won’t keep doing forever – it’s just a matter of time before the assassins start coming often enough and in great enough numbers that they’ll finish me off before anyone can do anything about it.

I’ll be leaving soon to meet Deliana in Ratchet, and from there on to the Eastern Kingdoms.  It’s probably going to be a few days at the very least before I have the chance up write anything here.  If you have any extra fingers, cross them.

 

Mokvar

Demon’s Bargain

Posted in Words from a Scribe with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 28, 2013 by Garrosh Hellscream

cleft

After the dead end in Winterspring, I mentioned that I still had one more possible stone to turn over.  It’s not one I particularly wanted to turn over, considering who I’d be finding under it, but at this point I don’t really have the luxury of wasting time and hoping something else falls into my lap.  So yesterday, I took a walk down to the Cleft of Shadow to have a talk with Neeru Fireblade.

I had known Neeru a little when I had first started training as a warlock, but since moving to Orgrimmar and changing to shamanism, I hadn’t had contact with him beyond occasionally passing on the street.  I’d always avoided the Cleft of Shadow; after Thrall gave me sanctuary in Orgrimmar, the last thing I wanted was to be caught anywhere near the fel magic of the warlocks.  Now, after years of avoiding the place, I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy just from purple light that illuminated the cavern as I made my way down.

 

Neeru Fireblade channels a spell while Mokvar approaches.

MOKVAR:  Neeru.

NEERU:  <looking at Mokvar over his shoulder>  Mokvar.  Just a moment.

Neeru finishes channeling.  Small flames burst from a large windroc carcass that sits on a nearby table, then flicker out after a moment.  Neeru turns to Mokvar and points to the sizzling fowl with a smirk.

Undercooked.

MOKVAR:  What do you do if it needs salt?

NEERU:  Count myself lucky that I didn’t make a larger mess of the preparation than that.  I’m hardly a chef.

Neeru sits down at the table.

I hope you don’t mind if I go ahead with dinner.

He gestures to a second chair across from him; Mokvar sits.

It’s been a long time, Mokvar.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you venture down this way.  What brings you to the land invocations and mediocre cuisine?

MOKVAR:  I’m looking for information, and I think you may be on the short list of people who might have it.

NEERU:  <gnawing on a leg from the roasted windroc>  I’m hardly a person in the know these days, but ask away.

MOKVAR:  The Nether Prism.

Neeru pulls the drumstick away from his face slowly and looks up.

NEERUWell now.  What have you gotten yourself into, Mokvar?

MOKVAR:  More a matter of what I’m trying to get myself out of.

NEERU:  All the more interesting, then.  I haven’t heard talk of that particular bauble in an age.

MOKVAR:  I wish I could say the same.

NEERU:  <eyes Mokvar closely>  The last I heard of the Prism, it was in the hands – or claws, I suppose – of that drakonid Valthalak.

MOKVAR:  That was years ago.  After that, it made its was to an imp named Vi’el, in Darkwhisper Gorge.

NEERU:  If you’re interested in the Prism, why don’t you go seek out the imp, then?

MOKVAR:  I did.  He’s dead.  What became of the Prism from that point is anyone’s guess.

NEERU:  Really now.  And how did you happen to know about this imp in the first place?

MOKVAR:  Let’s just say it took a roundabout path getting from Blackrock Spire to the imp.

Neeru leans back in his seat and folds his arms.

NEERU:  You?  You mean to tell me, Mokvar, that a relic as potent as the Nether Prism managed to change hands from Gul’dan all the way down to the likes of you?

MOKVAR:  When you’re starting with Gul’dan, I don’t know if “down” is the right word.

NEERU:  <chuckling and picking up the windroc leg again>  Well well, Mokvar…you say you came to me for information, but it seems I’m learning a fair bit more from you.

MOKVAR:  I think you know more than you let on.

Mokvar leans forward and drums his fingers on the table.

Then again, so do I.

Mokvar glances around at the other warlocks practicing invocations.

How many of them will it take?

NEERU:  <mouth half full of windroc meat>  Take?  For what?

Mokvar leans closer to the table.

MOKVAR:  To channel your targeting beacon for the demons.

Neeru drops the windroc leg on his plate and looks up.

How many warlocks?  How many of your collagues…in the Burning Blade?

NEERU:  The Burning Blade died with the last vestiges of the old Horde.  Anyone will tell you I cut my ties with them when I pledged my loyalties to Thrall.

MOKVAR:  <nods>  Of course.

Neeru starts to reach for his food again.

Are you waiting for a signal from any agent of the Legion, or are you on hold for Malchezaar specifically?  You might be waiting a while if it’s the second one.

NEERU:  I don’t know where you’re getting these fairy tales, Mokvar, but—

MOKVAR:  You know, it’s a funny thing.  Grom Hellscream died slaying Mannoroth and freeing our people.  Now his son walks around wearing the demon’s tusks, and sits on a throne carved out of its skull.  It would be a shame if the Warchief got the notion that someone in Orgrimmar was still cooking up something with the Legion.

NEERU:  <waving toward Ragefire Chasm>  If you really think Garrosh is above cutting ethical corners for the sake of—

MOKVAR:  If you’d like to roll the dice on how Garrosh would react, be my guest.  It’s not my neck at stake.

Neeru stares down at his food.

NEERU:  I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know what’s become of the Nether Prism.

MOKVAR:  But?

NEERU:  But if I were to hazard a guess as to where it might have gone…after the imp…  <glances around furtively>  There have been…rumblings among the warlocks since the fall of Deathwing.  It started when the human Kanrethad reconvened his circle of fel masters, the same ones who had worked to expand the powers of the warlocks before the Cataclysm.

MOKVAR:  I’d heard about that much – the Council of the Black Harvest, isn’t it?

NEERU:  <nods>  Our own Ritssyn from here in Orgrimmar was among them.

MOKVAR:  What are they doing?

NEERU:  Running around on fool’s errands all over the world – and beyond – to seek out even greater sources of power for themselves.  That Kanrethad thinks he can build a coven of the mightiest warlocks in existence and position himself at its head.

MOKVAR:  You don’t think they’ll be able to do it?

NEERU:  I think that when you set out with a plan of “Let’s go make ourselves more powerful than anyone ever,” you find either disaster or a far heftier price than you’d counted on.

Mokvar nods.

Nevertheless.  If the Black Harvest are trying to consolidate their power, I’d hazard a guess that the Nether Prism would be just the sort of item that would interest them.

MOKVAR:  Do you know what’s become of Ritssyn?

NEERU:  I believe he and one of the others made their way off to the Firelands.  For all the good that will do you.

MOKVAR:  What’s that supposed to mean?

NEERU:  Mokvar, don’t you be a fool too.  You can’t seriously expect that the Black Harvest would talk to you.

MOKVAR:  I think I’ve already shown I can be pretty persuasive.

NEERU:  <chuckles>  Mokvar, don’t be naïve.  You’re hardly one of the movers and shakers of the world, I’ll grant, but surely you can’t believe that you’re not noticed.  Standing for all those years in Thrall’s council room.  Attending advisors’ meetings with the leaders of the Horde.  Hellscream’s personal scribe.  Never mind the fact that they’ll know you were a warlock yourself once before you decided you didn’t want to dirty your hands with the fel arts any longer.  Do you really think they’ll be willing to tell you anything?

MOKVAR:  I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to be very persuasive.

NEERU:  Assuming you can ever find them.

MOKVAR:  We’ll see.  <getting up>  Anyway, I suppose I got what I came for, or as close to it as I’m going to.  Enjoy your dinner, Neeru.

Mokvar turns to walk away.

NEERU:  Mokvar.

Mokvar stops and looks back.

How did you know?

MOKVAR:  How did I know what?

NEERU:  Don’t play games with me.  You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.

Mokvar grins.

MOKVAR:  Let’s just say I get around.

 

I left Neeru and made my way out of the Cleft of Shadow, mostly preoccupied with how I was going to track down the Council of the Black Harvest.  I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice the light go dimmer than it should have as I went up the last bend of the cavern.  That’s when two spectral assassins appeared out of nowhere and attacked me.

I fought them off as best I could for a minute, but my shocks and chain lightnings aren’t nearly as potent as a shaman who’s been training at it his whole life.  They were quickly gaining the upper hand when Garona unstealthed behind them and had at both of them with a flurry of blades that was faster than my eyes could follow.  It bears noting, by the way: Garona’s no joke in combat.  I hadn’t really noticed before.  Those spectral assassins dropped fast.  While she resheathed her weapons, I tried to come up with something to say without much success.

 

MOKVAR:  Garona…I…

GARONA:  Garrosh knows what you’re doing.  I hope you do, too.

MOKVAR:  Then why…?

GARONA:  Before he left for Pandaria, he asked me to look out for you.  Until he tells me otherwise, that’s what I’m going to do.

MOKVAR:  Well…thanks…

GARONA:  Don’t.  You know that if he tells me kill you, I’ll have to.

Mokvar nods and starts to turn to go.

Don’t give him a reason to.

Garona stealths.

 

I think it’s safe to assume that pretty soon Garrosh will be getting a letter informing him that I went to see Neeru Fireblade.  I don’t figure that’s going to do a whole lot to improve his mood any.  Still, he’s having Garona go on protecting me, for now at least.  And with these two assassins down, chances are I’ve got a couple days before I have to worry about the next wave coming for me.

Still, I don’t have the luxury of a lot of time.  I have a new lead to follow, and it needs to lead somewhere quickly.

 

Mokvar

 

 

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

The last Warchief

Posted in General, Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

Dranosh kept staring down at the ruins of Orgrimmar as we circled high above the city.  We were too far to hear anything other than the faintest sounds of the demons and undead, but the fires were unmistakable even from here.

I finally went over and stood next to him.  He didn’t look away from the sight below.  We stood there in silence for a few minutes.

 

DRANOSH:  Do you remember the first time you saw Orgrimmar?

GARROSH:  <nods>  Thrall brought me, not that long after he came to Garadar.

DRANOSH:  My father took me.  He was so excited to show me the new home the orcs had built.  So proud to introduce me around – every grunt, every merchant, everyone.  I remember thinking how every last person in the city seemed to know him.

GARROSH:  Well, he IS Saurfang.

DRANOSH:  <nods, then pauses>  Maybe Thrall should have chosen him.  Or Cairne.  Or…Vol’jin.  <shrugs>  Or you, for that matter.

GARROSH:  I thought you said I’d be terrible at it.

DRANOSH:  Have you looked down there?  At what I’ve led us to?  I don’t think you would have done much worse.

GARROSH:  <staring down>  This…this wasn’t your fault.  You’ve been a good Warchief.

DRANOSH:  Then why am I in danger of becoming the last one?

 

Remember when I said this timeline was the better one?  Well, as long as time is getting screwed with anyway, let’s go back and erase that I’d ever said that.  Orgrimmar was bad enough…but now Dranosh…

At least the Wrathgate killed him quickly.  Not one little piece at a time.

We stood there silently for I’m not sure how long, until Dranosh finally turned around and gave Drok the order to set us on our way to Theramore.  As we started to pull away, Dranosh took one more look down at the burning shell of Orgrimmar.

 

DRANOSH:  I still don’t understand how this happened…

MOKVAR:  Warchief?  I think I might have at least a few answers for us…

Mokvar pulls a frog from until his cloak and dangles it by one leg.

GARROSH:  Is that…?

MOKVARNeeru Fireblade.  I’ve been keeping him hexed.  I figure he may be able to fill in a few gaps if we want to pop him.

DRANOSH:  Is this the one who did this?

GARROSH:  Not alone.  But he was the ringleader of those warlocks in the Cleft of Shadow, anyway…

DRANOSH:  <visibly fuming>  Oh… Oh, bring him out.  I want to talk to this one…

Mokvar nods and drops the frog on the deck, then zaps it with a frost shock to break the hex.  Before Neeru Fireblade can react in his restored orc form, Dranosh grabs him by his robes and shoves him back against the railing.

DRANOSH:  Oh hello, Neeru, so glad you made it out in one piece…

Neeru struggles against Dranosh’s grip, but Dranosh only shoves him back harder.

It would have been such a shame if you’d gotten yourself killed back there and cost me the chance to do the honors myself.

Neeru looks around at the gunship, then grins and chuckles cruelly.

NEERU:  Based on our surroundings, I assume the day goes badly, eh, Warchief?

GARROSH:  Not nearly as badly as it’s about to go for you if you don’t talk.

DRANOSH:  I’ve got a lot of questions, Neeru, but here’s the main one – why?

NEERU:  <laughing>  Why?  Why would I work against my enemy?  Are you really that naïve, boy?

DRANOSH:  How is the Horde your enemy?  You’ve been a citizen of Orgrimmar for years!

NEERU:  And a warlock of the Burning Blade for longer!  That shaman who came before you wanted to believe so badly that some of us might yet be redeemed that he gave us haven in his precious capital.  Even when his agents told him my loyalties might be…conflicted…the trusting fool still left me there in my tent to go about my business unimpeded.

GARROSH:  Wow, seriously?

MOKVAR:  You didn’t know about this?

GARROSH:  Would have been nice if he’d left me a fucking note about it or something…

NEERU:  <chuckling>  Allegiance to the Shadow Council is not foresworn so readily.

DRANOSH:  So you’ve been sitting there all these years plotting this?

NEERU:  This specifically?  No, no, boy.  Simply…watching for moments of opportunity.  And the Scourge attack on Orgrimmar proved a superb one.

GARROSH:  While we were busy watching the rear gate, there was nobody to keep an eye on you bastards in the Cleft.

DRANOSH:  Is that what the demons were doing in the Deadwind Pass?  Gathering for your go-ahead?

NEERU:  Our go-ahead, and more importantly our beacon to target their portal.  The Legion also happened to have, in the Deadwind Pass, some ideal resources for a surprise attack such as this.

GARROSH:  Malchezaar, in Karazhan.

NEERU:  Holder of one of the most powerful sources of portal magic in this world – the Book of Medivh.

DRANOSH:  Hold on – I’ve heard of Malchezaar, but I thought he was dead.

MOKVAR:  He was.

GARROSHRepeatedly.

MOKVAR:  Didn’t take.

DRANOSH:  Excuse me?

NEERU:  <chuckling>  Your mind is so comically linear.

GARROSH:  Malchezaar hung out in the highest level of Karazhan, where it pokes through into this whole other dimension.

MOKVAR:  Netherspace.

GARROSH:  Time doesn’t work the same way up there…it’s like it’s locked in this infinite loop.  So people went up there and killed him, yeah, and then a few days later the loop would reset, and he’d be there alive again.

MOKVAR:  And then someone else would kill him, and in a few days the loop would reset again.

GARROSH:  On and on endlessly.

DRANOSH:  And he just stayed there to die over and over?  Why would anyone do that?  Why wouldn’t he just leave?

NEERU:  Because so long as he was there, he could never truly die, you fool.  No matter how many deaths he might endure – hundreds, perhaps – the Netherspace would always restore him.  The perfect hiding place for the Legion to stash away a key weapon for safekeeping, until the time would come that he would be needed.

DRANOSH:  So today the demons cracked Malchezaar out of storage to bring them here…

NEERU:  <smirks at Garrosh and chuckles>  I wish you could have seen the look on your face when—

DRANOSH:  <shaking Neeru violently>  I would be a little more worried about the look on you face when I cut off your head and stick it on a pike, Fireblade!

NEERU:  Do you wish to, Warchief?  Then by all means.  I had no delusions that I would escape this endeavor alive.  But I believe.  Don’t you see?  It doesn’t matter if you kill me.  I’ve lived long enough to see Orgrimmar burn.

Dranosh loosens his grip on Neeru and stares over the warlock’s shoulder at Orgrimmar.

DRANOSH:  You’re forgetting something, Neeru.

Neeru arches an eyebrow quizzically.

Orgrimmar is behind you.

Dranosh draws his sword and runs it through Neeru.

You haven’t seen anything.

Neeru seizes up, then goes limp on the sword.  Dranosh extends his blade over the deck railing, then shakes off the body, letting it plummet to the rocks below.

GARROSH:  <spitting over the side>  Dismissed.

Dranosh stands at the railing, looking down, then looks back at Orgrimmar.

DRANOSH:  I should have caught what they were doing.  This should never have happened.

Garrosh stands next to Dranosh.

GARROSH:  You’re part right.  This shouldn’t ever have happened.  <looks at Mokvar, then back>  What if we could fix it?

DRANOSH:  Yeah, sure, we’ll just rewind time and take it all back.

MOKVAR:  Not exactly.

GARROSH:  Look…what I have in mind isn’t a sure thing by any means, and I’m not even sure exactly how to do it myself.  But I think I can find out.  And if it works…well, things won’t be perfect.  Like, at all.  But the demons won’t be running roughshod over the world, and the Scourge will be under control.

DRANOSH:  Sounds pretty perfect to me.  You sure you haven’t been dipping into the felweed again?

GARROSH:  I’m serious.  It won’t be easy, even if we can do it at all.  And…I don’t know if we’ll all make it through alive.  In fact…I’m pretty sure we won’t.

DRANOSH:  But Orgrimmar, our people – they do?

GARROSH:  I think so, yeah.  If what I’m thinking works.

DRANOSH:  <nods slowly>  If that ends up being the cost… A mediocre Warchief is a small price to pay for the survival of the Horde, don’t you think?

GARROSH:  I don’t know.  I’ve only seen great ones.

DRANOSH:  What do we do?

GARROSH:  First I need information.  <thinks for a minute>  And before we get too far along to Theramore, I need to make a quick side a trip to Ashenvale.

DRANOSH:  What’s in Ashenvale?

GARROSH:  An old friend.

 

Oh yeah. Shit just got real.

The Apothecarium

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 8, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

apothecarium

While Drok was making his way down to Southshore, Mokvar, Nazgrim, and I got the grand tour of the Apothecarium from Sylvanas and Faranell.  Overseer Kraggosh was there as well, finishing up his lunch break.  Basically a working lunch where he just camped out on one of the work benches, since he couldn’t really spare any extra people to stand watch in his absence, what with everything going on.  Gotta say, watching him munch away left me kind of boggled, because first of all, as bad as the Undercity smells in general, the APOTHECARIUM?  Where they keep all the extra toxic chemicals and plaguey shit?  Rancid stench squared.  So how he could possibly choke food down and keep it down is beyond me.  And second of all?  His lunch of choice?  Steak melt with three kinds of cheese and extra bacon.  Kraggosh, Kraggosh, you seriously don’t want to live to see your daughter start school, do you?  Come on, man.

The apothecaries looked to be carrying on their research as usual in the main chamber, but they’d set up a side room – the one they usually used to hold, ahem, Alliance test volunteers – as an area to work on bodies that had been affected by the anti-plague.  Some mages were channeling a containment field to make sure nothing spread out of the room, and Dr. Halsey and Apothecary Zinge from the Royal Apothecary Society were inside decked out in those weird full-body gas mask hazard suits the Forsaken have.

Further updates from Faranell’s research:  Whatever this thing is, it only seems to have any effect on undead.  They ran tests exposing some of the Alliance prisoners to it, and it doesn’t seem to do anything to humans, dwarves, or even worgen.  Just registered a big ol’ nothing.  What’s more, even though the effect spreads very easily if other Forsaken get close to an affected body, every test they’ve run here indicates it’s not chemical or biological in nature.  So even though we’ve been talking about it being “contagious,” that’s not really accurate.  Hell, on that basis, I probably shouldn’t keep calling it an “anti-plague,” seeing as it’s not really a plague at all, except that you pretty much don’t get any more “ANTI” anything than not being that thing at all, so I guess as it turns out, the “anti-plague” name is pretty damn accurate, so take THAT and FUCK OFF, smart guy.  Plus “anti-plague” sounds a lot cooler than “that weird shit what’s happening to the zombies.”

Anyway, though, it’s not biological or chemical in nature – it’s some kind of self-propagating magical effect.  So we’ve also gotten a few warlocks down here to help with the research as well – orcs and blood elves, since we don’t have to worry about them being exposed.  Best they can tell, it’s a strange balance of shadow and holy magic, held in some kind of…I don’t know…something about a matrix and counterbalances and some fucking…polarity of the neutron flow or some shit.  Point is, it seems to have reacted to the traces of shadow magic that woven into the Forsaken plague – the part of the plague that makes its victims rise as undead afterward – and generated this effect that causes that same shadow magic to be purged off anything it hits.  So the necrotic effects that make undead undead get dispelled right off.  Which is way beyond anything even a top-flight priest or paladin could do.

Whatever it is, exactly, it all got started when Sylvanas’ people were working on their green goop down in Southshore, so I’m thinking if we’re going to get any answers, it’s time for a bunch of us still-living peeps to take a trip down there.

Seed of corruption

Posted in General with tags , , , , , on May 19, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

drazzilb2

I mentioned the other day that I’ve been talking to Draz’Zilb down in Brackenwall Village.  Granted, he can be creepy as hell sometimes, but dude knows how to get shit done, and he can be pretty damn handy as times as long as you don’t have to stay in the same room as him for too long.  I think this is one of those times.  He has something he’s been working on that might turn out to be pretty useful right now.

Odds are, most of you have heard of this spell that warlocks use called Seed of Corruption.  Basically it seeds a target with a kind of shadow detonation that hurts the original target and anyone else that’s nearby.  Warlocks that are really on top of their game can even cast the spell with an extra wrinkle, so that all those nearby targets caught in the detonation are afflicted with extra shadow damage that rots away at them over time.

Draz’Zilb tells me he’s worked up a way to take this to the nth degree.  He believes he’s augmented the spell so that after that initial detonation, those surrounding targets that are afflicted with the additional ticking corruption?  Well, after it finishes ticking, THEY detonate too.  So, bonus A, the damage from that additional detonation, combined with the initial kaboom and the ticking corruption, would be enough to kill anybody short of a no-kidding-around badass.  And more important, bonus B, it creates a potentially unlimited chain.

Think of it: Victim #1 takes the initial seed and goes boom, and the initial burst of damage also hits nearby Victims #2, 3, and 4.  Victims #2-4 get whittled down by the additional ticking corruption, then THEY all detonate as well with a second shadow burst.  And now…THAT explosion hits nearby Victims #5, 6, 7, 8, and 9.  Who also get afflicted with corruption and take a time-bomb seed of their own.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Keep repeating until there’s no one else around to spread the corruption chain to.

Obviously, if you don’t mind waiting a little, this makes for a potentially awesome one-step method for wiping out groups of enemies on a massive scale.  I’m looking right at you, Stormwind.

That’s assuming it works, of course.  First we have to test it out to make sure Draz’Zilb is right.  So we need to give it a test run in a somewhat controlled setting.  Then, it’s game on.

Locks in Socks

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 19, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

warlocks

Today’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – as always, keep those suggestions coming for next time in the comments section!

 

Locks
Socks
Docks
Brox

Brox on docks.

Locks in socks.

Brox on locks in socks on docks.

Socks on Brox and locks on docks.

Locks in socks on Brox on docks.

Trolls with bowls smoke.
Trolls with poles poke.
Trolls with poles poke bowls till holes broke.

Trolls extol their hole poke goals and
Trolls console their souls, smoke bowls and
Troll patrols troll souls with smoke and
Troll bowl smoke soaks folk who choke.

First I’ll make a troll bowl smoke hole.
Then I’ll make a troll pole poke hole.

You can make a troll bowl smoke hole.
You can make a troll pole poke hole.

And here’s a new goal, Mr. Brox…
Socks on trolls who troll on locks.
Locks on docks steal souls from trolls and
Trolls sans souls put pox on locks.

Now we come to DoTs and HoTs, sir.
DoTs and HoTs go tick and tock, sir.
DoT go tick and HoTs go tock, sir.
Try to say this, Mr. Brox, sir.

DoTs on hawks tick.
HoTs on Brox tock.
Six sick clicks DoT
Six hawk flocks up.

Hawk flocks DoT-up
Shock stalks fel pup.
Fel pup stalks hawk flocks to hell, yup.
Hawk flocks’ yell shocks fel pup locks and
Fel pups smell up dell on walks.

Now you try it, Mr. Brox, sir.
It is time we let you talk, sir.

“Please, sir.  I don’t like this game, sir.
I am not this frigging lame, sir.
I get all the trolls and docks, sir,
Mixed up with the souls and socks, sir.
I can’t do it, Mr. Lock, sir.”

I’m so sorry, Mr. Brox, sir.

Here’s an easy game to play.
Here’s an easy thing to say…

Mean orcs.
Clean forks.
Seen forks?
Green orcs!

Green orcs eat pork meat with clean forks.
Clean orc forks beat sweet pork spleen corks.

Green orcs put clean forks in spleen meat.
Mean orcs put corks in sweet Tweet greet.

“That’s not easy, Mr. Lock, sir.”

Who limps?
Imp limps.
Sly wimp imp limps.

Who stocks sly wimp imps with limps?
Locks in socks stock imps with limps.
Wimp imp limps shock locks in socks while
Locks’ wimp imps stock box of socks.

Sly imps spy on locks in socks and
Spry imps, my, throw rocks at locks.
Limp rocks imp walks, blimp sky high! and
Wimp imp pimps for succubi.

“Hold on, hold on!  That was stretching!
Those last few have got me retching!
That last one was rather lewd, sir.
I think you are very rude, sir!”

Sorry, sorry, Mr. Brox, sir.
Let’s continue our nice talk, sir.

Chen comes.
Genn comes.
Chen’s friends, then some.
Chen brings Genn cheer.
Genn brings Chen beer.

Genn mends Chen’s cheer.
Chen blends Genn’s beer.
Chen’s blends.
Genn’s mends.
Chen-blend beer spills.
Genn-mend cheer fills.

Chen’s chums.  Genn’s glum.
Chen’s friends bend some.

Chen’s friends bend Genn’s cheer austere and
Genn’s blend tends to clear Chen’s fears.

Chen’s friends!  Ten friends!
Mend Genn!  When, Genn?
Chen’s ten friends send beer to Rend, sir.
Genn’s glum trend, forfend, the end, sir.

“My poor mouth can’t say that.  No, sir.
My poor mouth is much too slow, sir.”

Well, then…let’s relieve your lungs.
I will lift this Curse of Tongues.

Let’s have a little talk about squabblin’ goblins…

What do you know about squabblin’ goblins?  Well…

When squabblin’ goblins bicker,
It’s called squabblin’ goblin babble.

And when they babble even quicker,
It’s called squabblin’ goblin gabble babble.

AND when squabblin’ goblins babble during Scrabble in a gabble,
They call it a squabblin’ goblin Scrabble gabble babble.

AND…

When goblins squabble goblins in a Scrabble gabble babble
And the goblin gabble babble is a quibble over Scrabble,
…they call this a squabblin’ goblin Scrabble quibble gabble babble.

AND…

When the goblins have these quibbles over Scrabble when they babble and the goblins scribble gabbles over Scrabble taking “tribbles”…
…they call this a quibble babble tribble gabble squabblin’ Scrabble goblin scribble.

AND…

“Lock in socks, that’s quite enough, sir.
I won’t say this silly stuff, sir.
All this babble hurts my head, sir.
I’ll go back to being dead, sir.”

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

(Side note, by the way – I really feel like this poem, and Orc Lemon Squares from the other day, are really screaming out for illustrations.  So if any of you are artistically inclined and think you might be interested in helping to enhance your Warchief’s EPIC VERSE to its fullest potential, contact me at garrosh1337@gmail.com.  THAT IS AN ORDER.)

 

 

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

Mag’hari house guest

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 11, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

Sorry I haven’t been posting the last week.  I’ve been pretty busy here in Orgrimmar, and not even with anything big and momentous like wiping out the Alliance or even the aftermath of Deathwing biting it.  This past week my Greatmother has been visiting from Nagrand, so I was showing her around and just generally keeping her out of trouble.

As it turns out, just getting her out here was a big production all by itself.  I offered to send a mage to port her straight here, but oh no, no way, turns out apparently old people don’t trust mages and their new-fangled portals, no sir, so we had to arrange to get her out to the Dark Portal to come through that way.  By the way, funny how she didn’t want to take a mage portal because those things are dangerous and unreliable, and yet she was totally okay taking the DARK PORTAL which by the way HAS “PORTAL” RIGHT IN ITS NAME TOO, only with dragon heads carved around it and warlocky fel magic buzzing all over it because we all know NOTHING ever went wrong with THAT.

So anyway, we finally got her out to the Dark Portal and through to the Blasted Lands, and then over to Grom’gol to catch the zeppelin up to Orgrimmar.  On the way I hear tell she promised home-knit sweaters to a couple of the Grom’grol guards and one of the goblins on the zeppelin, because, you know, you really need a sweater when it starts getting nippy out there in the tropical jungle.  I bet most of the problems the Darkspear ended up having in Stranglethorn could have been cleared right up if someone had through to crank out a few cardigans.

So we finally got her up here to Orgrimmar, and I have to admit, I was kind of hoping that she would be at least a LITTLE impressed with the place, or with me being Warchief, but oh no.  First thing she comments on is how we’re still under construction even with the Cataclysm happening however many months ago, and how it wasn’t even that big of a cataclysm, not like in her day when Draenor literally got ripped into pieces, and us young ’uns have it so easy thinking a few earthquakes and some tidal waves count as a capital-C definite-article The Cataclysm – and meanwhile they had their settlements rebuilt in a few weeks.  Which, everything else aside, yeah, like I needed another reminder of how those goblins are seriously taking their damn time on the construction work.

Oh wait, hold on, let me correct that.  That wasn’t the first thing she commented on.  No, the FIRST thing she commented on was the ritual tattoos I’ve gotten since the last time she saw me, like “Oh, is this what you kids are doing nowadays?  All these young people running around with their tattoos, calling them ‘ritual’ and acting like that means they’re in touch with the ancestors.  I know my ancestors knew the actual rituals.  You know they’re only going to stretch and sag as you get older, don’t you?  Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”  Oh and then there were the pieces of Mannoroth’s tusks that I wear on my shoulders – “You wear those to work?  For important meetings and everything?”  And when I pointed out how they’re from Mannoroth, who killed my FATHER, and how I’d used parts of the pit lord’s remains to fashion the shoulders and my throne in Grommash Hold, all I got for that was “You don’t think that’s a little tacky?”

Also, as if all that wasn’t fun enough, for the first two days pretty much all I heard about was Thrall and how proud she is of him for saving the world from Deathwing and how great it is that he and Aggra are having a baby and by the way WHEN THE HELL WAS THRALL GOING TO TELL ME ABOUT THAT?!  First the wedding and now this, the FUCK, man?  And anyway, that was all kinds of fun, being reminded on and on about how awesome Thrall is, and how happy she is that she’s finally going to have great-grandchildren.  And then she made some mention about how apparently Kilrath has a daughter around my age that she wants me to meet, and yeah that was all kinds of awkward.  Ugh.

Over the next few days a bunch of the other Horde leaders came by to meet her and pay their respects, which I’ll admit was pretty cool of them, and she seemed to like Baine especially, gave him the whole “nice young man” deal that old ladies love to throw around.  And everyone was nice to her, don’t get me wrong, but like…I mean, I know I can get cranky sometimes, but I really try to watch my mouth around Greatmother.  Not least of all because if she catches me swearing she used to give me a good hard yank by my ponytail, which was one of the main reasons I cut it off eventually, but I’m also not in much of a hurry to find out what she would come up with for Plan B now that it’s gone.  So anyway, I try to rein it in when I’m around her, but I swear the other leaders were making a point of giving me bad news in front of her and just generally saying things to see if they could set me off.  Vol’jin especially.  Meanwhile Greatmother just seemed to get a kick out of everyone.  I don’t think she’s really clear on what the Forsaken actually are, though, what with her calling Sylvanas “that nice elf girl” that seems like she could use some sun.  (More like she could use some SunWELL, am I right?  OH YEAH I WENT THERE.)  I’m thinking it’s just as well that I don’t clear that one up for her.

Anyway, that’s a sampling of my week, and I’m sure I’ll roll out a few more stories about it if you want to hear, maybe toss a few quotable quotes in the Twitter feed or something (#shitmygreatmothersays maybe).  For right now, though, she just left to head back to Nagrand, so if you’ll excuse me, I have a tavern to go visit.

 

 

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

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