Well, this just goes to show what I know.
After our whole SNAFU with the sha claw, Regent-Lord Eyepatch went back to Silvermoon to personally supervise his people’s study of that sha box we recovered. Before he left I tried to impress on him the importance of that project (I believe my exact words were “This is actually important, unlike everything else you’ve ever done in your life, so try not to make a giant fucking mess this one time, Lori”), and after leaving him to his devices a couple days, I sent some people up to Silvermoon to check on him and try to prod things along.
I just received a report back from Eyepatch. And so, remember last time, how uneasy I was about having to rely on the blood elves for all these important jobs? All the angsting I was doing over whether they could pull this off, rather than defaulting back to their standard “giant fucking mess” M.O.? Well, after all that handwringing I was doing, you would probably expect Ponytail’s blood elves to find a way to pull off some spectacular new level of fail.
AND YOU WOULD BE RIGHT.
Let’s even set aside the fact that Ponytail started out crying about how anyone who tried to probe the box magically ended up being affected by powerful, negative emotions, because hey, it’s totally fair for him not to think of that possibility what with him being RIGHT HERE WITNESSING THAT VERY SAME THING HAPPENING WITH THE KOR’KRON NOT THREE DAYS AGO. But then, we’ve long established that these blood elves aren’t exactly world-beaters when it comes to seeing things coming (DRINK). So, moving on, witness fuckuppery the next: even AFTER having these problems with the crazy outbursts, Ponytail’s peeps kept plugging away, and ended up releasing some kind of sha creature that had been sealed in the box. In a room with a couple of his mages and a handful of guards. And nobody else.
So okay, let’s recap that for those of you keeping score at home.
AFTER traveling around some of the sha and mogu sites in Pandaria…and AFTER being on hand for our failed Kor’kron experiments with the claw… Eyepatch brought the box back home to Silvermoon…so he could stick it in a basement with minimal guard and a grand total of two magic-users on hand to work on it. And then released a beastie that proceeded to kick the snot out of his generously snotty elves. To the point that if some of MY people hadn’t been on hand to save the day, that sha thing might still be running roughshod over Silvermoon and we’d be having to get Sylvanas to send a task force over to bail them out. (And by the way, don’t think for a minute that THAT wouldn’t make half the blood elf population drop a brick in its collective panties – HEY LOOK GUYS THERE’S AN ARMY OF UNDEAD HEADED THIS WAY OH SHIT NOT AGAIN.)
I mean, there are at least half a dozen reasons why that’s just a spectacular steaming heap of fail, but the winner right off the top of my head, I think is… WHY DID YOU EVEN BOTHER BRINGING THE DAMN BOX BACK TO YOUR HOME CITY if you weren’t going to positively SURROUND it with an entire fucking LEGION of your very best troops? You go to all that trouble for like five guards? Hey, guess what, Eyepatch, we could have put our sha junk under the watch of five random assholes right here in Pandaria.
LIKE HEY HOW ABOUT THESE GUYS EVEN, REMEMBER THEM?
So yeah, this is what Lori is crying about this week. Well, today. The week is still young. Meanwhile, he’s already sent me four messengers, with each of the last three delivering an extra addendum to his written bitch-and-moan fest. They’ve been arriving every couple hours, so I’m just imagining him sitting around in whatever palace he has up there (I’m guessing pink features heavily in the décor), sending off a letter, and then as soon as the messenger leaves, grabbing another parchment like “AND HERE’S ONE MORE THING!”
I did send him a response back to the first one. Although…just to amuse myself, I addressed it to “That guy in Silvermoon, you know, the one with the poofy hair.” I’m not sure which thought amuses me more: the amount of time it’s going to take them to narrow it down to Ponytail, or the look he’s going to get on his face when he sees it.
I know, I know. I’m a stinker.