Archive for dehta

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2015 by Garrosh Hellscream


Okay, peeps, time to hack through a little more of this backlog of letters.  Here we go.


Dear Warchief,

As an amateur artist myself, I’m always interested in others’ artistic work.  Lately I’ve been taking particular interest in the artistry that went into your tattoos.  I’m curious if they have any special meaning, like certain markings indicating anything specifically.  They look like someone put a lot of effort into the intricate detailing.  And placement.

No, really, that’s why I’ve been staring.  I’m studying.  The tattoos.

Also, speaking of artwork, tell Gurtash to keep up the good work, I’ve been enjoying watching his drawings develop.  Is there any chance that some of his drawings of you might become available as pinups?  I’m just curious.  I’d like to help support a budding young artist, you see.

Innocently yours,

–Tandeleina, Silvermoon City

Uh huh.  Yup.


But to answer your question, Tandeleina (do you have any nicknames, by the way? not for nothing, but your name is seriously a bitch to type)…  The tattoos are Warsong ceremonial markings, done by Vanteg from back in Nagrand.  I talked about this a little once before, but I guess I never really touched on what the tattoos actually mean.  Because they DO mean things – they’re not just some fancy scribbles that somebody doodled all over me at random and hoped they would look badass.  Well, except when Gurtash draws them, because honestly, he DOES just kind of doodle them all over me, like I can just imagine him spending all day working on one of those sketches of me, and struggling like hell to recreate all that awesome on paper, and then he gets to the end and realizes he still needs to do the tattoos, only at that point he’s all tired and spent from the whole exercise so he’s like “oh fuck it” and scribbles a bunch of vaguely stripey shapes on me.  Because, see, in reality, unlike Gurtash’s drawings, my tattoos are NOT different shapes in different locations every single time you look at me.  Kid’s got a good eye in general, I guess, but apparently getting that much right calls for TWO good eyes.

But I digress.

Anyway, the tattoos fall into two groups, the ones on my back and the ones on my shoulders and arms.  The markings on my arms stand for the major victories and achievements of my family line, with the earliest accomplishments being represented around my shoulders, then working their way toward the present as they continue down my arms.  So as you trace down each arm, you can follow the achievements of my grandfather, Golmash, then Grommash and Lakkara, then me.  They all pretty much look like interchangeable stripes to the untrained eye, but see, there are all these little subtle variations, where the bands get thicker or narrower, where there are little nicks and indentations, where there are curves and where they stay straight… every little detail is symbolic for something.  You’ll also notice, the tattoos only run down to about my elbows.  I had Vanteg do that deliberately, so there’d be room for me to add more tattoos down the rest of my arms as time goes on.  Who knows, now that it turns out I’m not the last of the line, maybe if Shay does something big one day, I can get myself inked up a little more to cover that.

Meanwhile, the tattoos on my back mean something else.  See, the accomplishments of my family go on my arms, because the arms stand for deeds and actions.  The back, on the other hand, stands for the…well, the backbone.  The framework that supports everything else.  So the markings on my back symbolize different qualities that are valued in the Warsong clan or within my family line.  So there’s one marking that means loyalty, and one marking that means prowess in battle, and another marking that means strength of will, and then there’s that one stray marking on the left side of my back that means Vanteg should have known to put the fucking needle down for a minute when he felt the hiccups coming on.  By the by, he’s got a marking of his own now that symbolizes that very same thing, only it’s not made of fucking ink.

So there you go, ladies.  Now you have an excuse to take a good long look next time you see me tooling around Orgrimmar.  It’s not leering, it’s exegesis!  I’ll know the truth, but that can just be our little secret.  You’re welcome.


Yo Warchief Hellscream,

Wazzup?  Long time reader, first time writer here.  Anyway, I got a bit of a problem I was hoping you’d take care of for me.  Could you call off your Kor’kron mooks every time I come into the city to sell my goods?  I’m a loyal citizen of the Horde and a skilled engineer, and I haven’t stolen anything I ain’t earned through good and honest–whoa I almost got that out legit there.

Anyway, all I do is sell inferior gnome engineered products to promote how much more AWESOME goblin engineered products are (not to mention that there’s less of a chance of turning into a chicken when you use ’em), but every time, your Kor’kron goons come over and harass me outta my stall!  Since I’m already paying protection to the Tinker’s Guild and the Trade Prince, if I gotta start paying you, I wouldn’t even be breaking even profit-wise!  What’s a girl gotta do to make some semi-honest coin around here?

–Glesse “Glitch” Sparkbolt, Sparkbolt Enterprises

Hey, Glitch, thanks for writing.  What the hell took you so long?  Freaking lazy-ass goblins.  Anyhow.

So let me get the straight.  Your business plan…is to sell stuff that you know going in is crap…so people can SEE that it’s crap…and then not buy it anymore…and then go to someone ELSE who’s selling BETTER stuff and buy from THEM?  So you’re telling them, “Goblin products are awesome – and I’m not selling them!  So you better go give your money to someone who isn’t me”?  That’s your business model?

I’m going to stick my neck way, way out and guess that you don’t exactly have investors lined up around the block to sink money into this operation.

So as far as the Kor’kron go, see, there isn’t any law against selling gnomish products, but if you’re causing a nuisance with your junk, then yeah, they’re going to come over and stop the operation and make sure you don’t give any more people cause to register complaints.

So here’s the question for you: When you were getting “harassed” out of your stall, HAD you just turned a would-be customer into a chicken?  How about a frog?  Did you just make somebody’s mother-in-law seven feet taller?  Did you just give some horny teenager x-ray vision?  (Fucking hell save us if that kind of tech drops into a certain pair of doodle-prone hands I know.)  Did you just go “one two three kablooey” and turn somebody’s hat into a bowl lime sherbet?  Did you give somebody a free trial of a teleportation device only instead of taking them to the Barrens it popped them into a parallel dimension made entirely out of shrimp, only when you pulled them back it split them into two copies of themselves, one with all the good and noble qualities and one with all the evil nasty stuff, but neither of them are strong enough to survive on their own, plus there’s the persistent uncontrollable toxic flatulence?

Because seriously, once you open the can of worms that is gnomish tech, no outcome is too ridiculous to be off the menu.  That’s why, at the end of the day, I DO prefer goblin products.  At least with those, you know they’re only ever going to blow up in your face LITERALLY.


Greetings, Warchief,

I finally decided to give Earth Online a try after reading about your adventures there.  It’s a pretty fun game!  I decided to follow in your footsteps and roll a teacher class.  I’m coming up on the end of the university starter zone, and I’ve been doing okay with the student teacher proving grounds, but since I’m about to venture off the safe confines of campus, I was wondering if you had any helpful tips on playing a teacher successfully in the big wide world?

–Gurda Ragescar, Splintertree Post

Thanks for writing, Gurda.  Glad you’re liking the game.  The teacher class is a tricky one, what with all the lesson plan juggling and management of your minions, but it can be pretty fun once you work out how you’re going to do things.  A lot of stuff is going to depend on how you’re specced, like if you’ve got more of a science or orcities (what those Alliance buggers probably call humanities) build, so I don’t want to get too deep into specifics that might not apply to you.  But, I can give you a few things you might want to keep in mind.

First, when you’re dealing with your minions and issuing them commands, you need to spam those keybindings.  Do not – repeat, DO NOT – make the mistake of thinking you can press the button once to tell the brats to do something and then sit back pleased as can be expecting them to go do it.  There is ZERO chance they’re going to do what you tell them until you click on it at least three or four times.  Same thing goes for when you try to up their skills.  You want to boost them up a skill point, you need to hit that train button six or seven times.  It will not take otherwise.  It’ll bounce right off their stubborn little heads.  You might think I’m crazy, but just you watch – try sending them off on a mission, only hit the assignment key once, then come back when the mission is supposed to be done, and watch the blank looks on their faces, like they’re saying, “Oh…did you want me to do something?”

Second, sometimes when you’re dealing with one of your minions, it’ll spawn this older-looking NPC that’ll aggro on you and initiate a parent-teacher conference solo scenario.  Those can be tricky.  You’ve got to improvise on the fly as far as the parent’s mechanics, but basically, you need to wear them down until they stop being hostile and turn friendly.  At that point, they’ll help you reinforce whatever you’re trying to get your minions to do.  Here’s the catch, though: some of the parents will be really easy to get on your side, and some of them will be damn near impossible – like infuriatingly so.  And the funny part is, the easy parents are the ones whose kids were pretty easy for you to handle in the first place, so you probably don’t really NEED help from the parents. But those are the ones that spawn more often.  But the harder parents?  Yeah, they’re tough to deal with, but they’re kind of worth it, because THEIR kids are frigging impossible to handle, so you NEED all the help you can get with them…only those parents almost never spawn.  It’s like they don’t want to be bothered with the little brats, so good luck ever getting them to show for a conference.

When you’re grinding out your paper-grading dailies, DO NOT try to do too many of them in one sitting.  If you try to grind out too many at once, your patience bar will burn out way too quickly and you’ll end up giving D’s to everyone in the bottom half of the pile.

That’s it as far as suggestions.  One fun thing to look out for, though – when you’re going around the world away from your school, keep an eye out for your minions.  It won’t happen often, but every once in a while you’ll randomly run into one of them wandering around the world.  Keep an eye open, and watch them when that happens – they will freak the fuck out, like they’re totally dumbstruck by the fact that you exist out in the regular world.  I just get a kick out of watching them panic and scramble around all confused.  Maybe it’s just me.


Yo, what’s up Warchief?

The name’s Grottee Metalbeard. You know, that goblin who came to see you with a letter from your old buddy Thrall. Of course, you probably remember better from when a message with my name on it was sent to your Live Blog a coupla weeks back. Darndest thing: that wasn’t me.

Turns out, my assistant Mindy found my password and logged in a few hundred times when I wasn’t around – after all, a shaman’s work is never done. That little question about the Warsong? Her doing. It’s a good question, but I wasn’t gonna ask it, so she did.

Good news is, I finally know why I’m getting all those meal deal emails. And how my old boss Gallywix somehow found out about my recent fling with an old friend, Sassy Hardwrench, during one of my trips to Stranglethorn. (I knew all those gossip magazines were hiding something from me!)

The bad news is, I’m now in the market for a new assistant. And a new office. Turns out she blew it up with smuggled explosives. That mystery boob job she went on and on about? Bombs smuggled in under the shirt. My fault for not asking for a look I guess. Don’t suppose you know where else I could set up?

Aaaanyway, that ain’t what I’m really writing in about. No, no, what I’m writing in about, is these three words: Blackfuse, elementals, trolls.

What am I talking about? I’ll discuss each topic in brief.

Step 1: Blackfuse. I can tell you’re not exactly worried about the technology of your Horde right about now, seeing as how you’re trying to master the Sha and all that. But you really should be. If what I’ve heard is true, the Alliance is gearing up to take you on. As in, lay siege to Orgrimmar, kill anyone who doesn’t run away/surrender and stick your head on a pike. And I’m not talking about your average bunch of Alliance adventurers going in and taking a shot at you hoping Varian will send them a bear in the mail (how does that work, by the way?) or anything like that. I mean, armies from all over Azeroth baring down on you with their hackles raised. Fortunately for you, I know a guy who’ll crank Orgrimmar’s Engineering skill all the way to the top. His name’s Helix Blackfuse, and he runs a little outfit called Blackfuse company. They’re a rowdy bundle of backstickers and grease-monkeys who build high-tech shredders, giant lasers, the odd drilling machine and yes, a crapload of bombs, then sell ’em to whoever’s got the gold. I’m saying this ’cause while I don’t have enough money to pay him to make me a sandwich, you probably have the gold to tie him to the Horde at the hip. Blackfuse has a weakness for shiny gold worse than the average magpie; you pay him enough, he’ll build you a giant metal scorpid with laser, bombs and buzz-saws coming out the wazoo. I figure that should be a step in the right direction.

Step 2: Elementals. Let me be blunt, Warchief: I know you’ve been getting offers of help from the Dark Shaman. You know, the ones who force the elementals to bend to their will and corrupt them into creatures of darkness. I’m only gonna say this once: don’t. Whatever neat little tricks they promised you, don’t. Don’t say yes to the jokers who think the elements are tools they get to bend in or out of shape as they like. You think life in the desert is harsh now? I’ve been chatting to the elements here, and they’re being nice. Even after you dragged out those molten giants during your attack on Theramore, they’ve decided to let your people keep on living here. But they’re running out of tolerance. It’s pretty understandable. If you laugh and spit in people’s faces too often they’ll try to get rid of you – like I was gonna do to Gallywix before the volcano on Kezan erupted. Besides, you don’t need to force the elementals to fight for you – some of them’ll do it for free.

And before you ask, I know this because since the death of Deathwing I’ve been hopping to some of the elemental planes, chating with the natives. Turns out, there’s entire armies of elementals out there without a cause to fight for. I don’t expect you to know this, but the leaders of the wind and fire elementals got KO’d a while back, like FOR REAL. Not coming back no matter how many reset buttons get pushed. Which means there’s a power vacuum in the Skywall and the Firelands – and a few of the more intelligent ones are happy to take any work they can get. Business has been good for me so far. Maybe you’d like to try it?

Now, like I said, the wind and fire elementals need no prompting, so that’s two elements ticked off right from the off. Earth is a little more tricky, ’cause their ruler is still around, and they’re not exactly big on mortals around there. Still, I’ve got a lot of pull with the Stonemother, so I imagine at least some of them would be willing to try working with someone I gave a ringing endorsement. The water boys, though? That’s kinda tricky. They’d be willing to give you a run, see how things go. But there’s a catch (of course there is) – namely, they want a small army of Horde troops to help them with reclaiming the Abyssal Maw from the naga. And not the kids fresh out of training either. Top of the line Kor’kron boots in the water is what they want. It seems there’s a few of them who are happy to serve the Alliance’s Frost mage population, and they don’t really want to switch sides without a little stellar motivation. I was half-tempted to say yes just to find out what the hell happened to that Neptulon guy, but I figured I should run it by you and see what we should do. Anyway, all I’m saying is, you’ve got an opportunity to play nice and get what you want from the elementals without screwing them and yourself over. I’d take it, if I were you.

Step 3: Trolls. And I’m not talking about the guys you know about – the peacemakers with the ambition of soggy wood. No, I’m talking about the big boys. The fellas who made an empire once, long ago. After the death of the Thunder King, they’re in a bad way in terms of leadership, and reduced to grasping at straws. Basically, they’ll take whatever help they can get, I’m sure. And let me tell you, Warchief, these guys mean business. I’ve seen them come out with some of the coolest toys a troll can get his hands on: giant dinosaur mounts, massive golems, even a few loa priests with transformation magic. Hell, you could get a lot of mileage out of them, and by bringing them into the fold, you’d be sending a message to those Darkspear morons that they’re not as needed as they think they are. Plus, you’d not only get rid of one of an ongoing list of enemies for the Horde, you’d also get powerful allies against the Alliance. Genius, huh?

Anyway, let me know how your negotiations go if you decide to give Blackfuse or the Zandas a call. And, uh, on the subject of the elementals, do I have the go-ahead? Be nice to do something more constructive than go brewing and selling the Vial of the Sands all day.

–Grottee Metalbeard, goblin shaman

We now continue with Tuesday mailbag.  Because holy fucking SHIT, what the fuck just happened THERE?  Where did the last eight pages and twelve hours go, for fuck’s sake?

Look, Grottee – and thank the spirits you had your name on the very last line there, because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to go looking – you might be brilliant and insightful and wise and skillful and loyal and punctual and have impeccable table manners, but DUDE, the FUCK?  A mailbag letter should NOT have CHAPTER BREAKS, dude.  And look, maybe you think I’m being a little hard on you, and maybe you’re thinking “oh, come on, that gigantic congealed brick of words wasn’t THAT long,” here, allow me to defer to an expert witness who knows a thing or two on the subject.  Check this out:



Okay, so, I’m just going to respond to random assorted parts of that, because in all honesty, I think I zoned out about four or five times trying to make my way through that.  So here we go.

Goblin tech.  Got it.  Not a bad idea.  I might have to look up this Blackfuse dude.  Like I was just telling Glitch back before forty days and forty nights blew on by, goblin tech CAN be handy, and it’s sure as hell a better option than trying our luck on gnomish crap.

So, water elementals.  Look, dude, go hang out with the elementals all you want, but don’t hold your breath waiting to get an answer on the whole Neptulon thing.  Mark my words, we are never going to find out what the fuck happened to that dude.  It’s just going to be one of those crazy mysteries lost to the mists of time, like where Medivh vanished off to, or what creepy shit is going on under Tirisfal Glades (other than the regular ol’ creepy shit that Sylvanas is doing any given Tuesday), or what really happened to Turalyon and Alleria or whoever the fuck.  You’re just never going to find out.  Either that or you’ll find out somewhere between 4-6 years from now, and at that point the answer’s probably just going to be a giant fucking disappointment anyway.

Meanwhile…the Zandalari.  Um…dude, I’ve got enough headaches from the trolls we’ve got, without going out and digging up some more.  I mean, fuck, if that’s what I’m going to do, how about I go help Lather-on-us recruit some more fucking hippies into DEHTA and send them an invitation to come hang out in Grommash Hold, and then I can round up some of these goblin mad scientist types and see if they can come up with a way to clone Dontrag and Utvoch, and then how about I log onto Earth Online and try pugging for a couple hours, or until my eyes bleed, whichever comes first (pro tip: smart money takes the under), and then I can put on my snazziest suit and invite Magatha over for afternoon tea.  THE FUCK KIND OF OPERATION DO YOU THINK I’M RUNNING HERE?

That said, as much as I’m no fan of trolls, riding around on dinosaurs?  THAT’s kind of badass.  I might have to see about getting me one of those.


That does it for this time. As always, keep those letters coming.

More soon.


[Keep the letters coming indeed – because next week the Warchief will be cranking out an extra mailbag for this month! So keep your questions, thoughts, and ramblings coming for next Monday!]

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 21, 2013 by Garrosh Hellscream


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


To Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde:

Call off the search patrols!  I’m ok!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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





Enjoy the rest of your trip!


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

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


This would be Ellendra Palescorn…his bodyguard.

Yes, his bodyguard.

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

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


Hey mon,

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

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

–Bob, Echo Isles

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

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

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


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

Hail Warchief!

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

–Legit Tauren Scribe

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


To Garrosh:

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

Have come across unexpected complications.

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

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

–Garona Halforcen, Everlook


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

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

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

More soon.

Welcome to the jungle

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , on July 25, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

We’ve spent a good solid day investigating in Stranglethorn Vale, without a whole lot to show for it.  On the way down, I arranged to have Mokvar and Krog take the zeppelin down with me.  Figured it would help to bring a record-keeper, plus a trained investigator who can do a little stealthing around.

Based on the conversations I had with the DEHTA people – or, well, what I remember of them – our most likely suspect in the animal-arming weirdness is a troll named Tembw’bam, who used to hang with the DEHTA guys until he decided they weren’t hardcore enough for him over the whole animal rights thing.  Yes, you read that right.  According to what they tell me, this Tembw’bam dude went so crazy living in his animal forms that he basically renounced being a humanoid.  Like he looked at the animals, and looked at the other people, and went over to the animals like “Fuck that shit, I’m with you guys.”  Which to be fair, I don’t know if I can blame him, depending on the people he had surrounding him.  I mean, lock me in a room with Dontrag and Utvoch for a few days and self-identifying as a meerkat might start to sound pretty good to me, too.

Anyway, once we arrived here, Commander Aggro’gosh put some of his scouts at our disposal, and we started sending out search parties led by me, Mokvar, and Krog.  I even stopped by the Nesingwary base camp with my group to check in, although I have to say, it’s kind of disappointing dropping by there.  I mean, I hear the camp is spruced up a lot now compared to what it was like back in the day, but here’s the thing.  As much as the facilities might be better, it just isn’t what you’d call a no-kidding-around on-top-of-shit hunter’s camp.  Look, I’ve met Hemet Nesingwary.  I went hunting with him a few times back in Nagrand.  THAT dude is the real deal as far as big game hunting goes.  His kid, Hemet Jr.?  Total slacker.  You can tell his heart’s not really in it – he’d really rather be focusing on his music, or some shit like that – and it shows.  But you know how it goes.  The boss takes off and leaves his son in charge of the company, nobody can say anything because, hey, it’s the boss’ fucking kid, but the kid doesn’t really know the business well enough to ride the staff the way the old man would, and so everything gets lax and sloppy.  Fucking legacy kids.

I tried talking to Hemet Jr. some, but between him and the other hunters at the camp, the best I could get was confirmation of there being a lot of animals turning up with weapons and armor on them.  Tigers especially lately, for whatever reason.  That might just be because there’s a decent tiger population near the camp, or maybe because there’s more to it, who knows – and by the way, can I just say again?  Hemet SR. would have been able to put some tracking on that shit and get an idea of what’s what.  No such luck with HJ.

We’ll keep at it a little longer, and hopefully something will turn up.  While we were making the rounds, Nimboya sent word to some of his people over in Bambala, and we just had a troll hunting party stop by the base here, so maybe we’ll get a lead there.  More soon.

Calling freelance snapshotters

Posted in General with tags , , , , , on July 24, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

I’m taking a day here in Orgrimmar to rest up a bit before I follow up on the lead I’d gotten on the nutjob ex-DEHTA guy.  Also lining up a few support people to bring with me to Stranglethorn Vale.  While I’m here, I figured I’d tend to a few odds and ends for the blog.

So, first and foremost – those of you who are regular readers have probably noticed that over the last week or so, I’ve been adding pictures into my posts at a regular clip.  (And those of you who are NOT regular readers – WHY THE HELL NOT?  DO NOT CURRY THE WRATH OF YOUR WARCHIEF, PEON.)  Strictly speaking, it hasn’t been me doing it – Spazzle mentioned that it might be nice to put some pictures into the blog, break up the walls of text (if only someone could make pictures come out of Tirion’s mouth when he gets rolling, amirite?), that sort of thing.  I took that as him volunteering for the job, and told him to get to work.

The posts have been looking nice enough with the added illustrations that I’d kind of like to work a few into the earlier posts too.  But, fact of that matter is, Spazzle doesn’t have what you’d call an extensive picture gallery, and for some reason the lazy fucker doesn’t seem too thrilled at the idea of spending the next few weeks flying all around Azeroth collecting more.

So, here’s where I turn to you, MY LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS.  Here’s your chance to BECOME A PART of the blog you love so dearly!  Okay, granted, a much less awesome part than I am, but still, a pretty legit part!  So here it is.  Have some pictures from your travels that you think would go well with your favorite post here on the Command Board?  Well, consider this my official call for submissions!  Send your images to me at, along with an indication of which post you have in mind for it.  If it looks like a good fit to me, I’ll have Spazzle hook it up.

I’ll credit the image to you on the edited post, including a link to your own blog or web site if you have one and, you know, it’s not part of some sketchy scam to spread keyloggers or something.  DON’T THINK I WON’T HAVE MY PEOPLE CHECK ON THAT SHIT.  Once the updated post goes live, I’ll make an announcement on Twitter, and I’ll probably also do a mini-post here every so often pointing out which older posts have had some nice shiny eye candy added to them.

Spazzle tells me that ideally, your images should be large enough and high enough resolution that they can be cropped or edited and still look reasonably good.  He’s generally going for letterbox-ish dimensions, so if your images lend themselves to that, all the better.  Whatever any of that shit means.

There might also be a few minor odds and ends about layout and formatting and such, but I’ll deal with people individually as it becomes necessary.  Or rather, I’ll have Spazzle deal with them, because I have more important things to do with my time.  Like, you know, figure out why there are armies of woodchucks running around with nunchaku.

Speaking of which, I need to go pack.  Stranglethorn awaits.

Tangerine trees and marmalade skies

Posted in Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 23, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So…didn’t get around to posting when I got back in yesterday.  I wound up sleeping in late here at Warsong Hold, and I’m actually a little fuzzy as far as what happened after my last post from the DEHTA camp.

Mokvar was supposed to come meet me here in Northrend, but he wound up getting held up by some business back in Orgrimmar.  Luckily, Saurfang had his own in-house scribe on hand to keep a record.  See for yourself.


Scene: High Overlord’s Command Room, Warsong Hold

[High Overlord SAURFANG paces back and forth, dictating to ADELENE SUNLACE, Inscription Trainer and personal scribe.]


…and so, Chieftain Icemist, with the Scourge thwarted and the Nerubian threat contained, I believe the time is right for us to begin the long-overdue work of reclaiming the lost settlements of your taunka brethren and securing them under the banner of the Horde.  I look forward to our continued correspondence.  Honor go with us all—


[From outside.]

High Overlord!



Make way, mon!  We be coming’ t’rough!

[Enter OVERLORD RAZGOR, Executive Officer of Warsong Hold, and WIND MASTER TO’BOR, propping up a staggering WARCHIEF GARROSH HELLSCREAM between them.  The Warchief’s personal wyvern wanders in behind them.]


HA!  Oh man, watch that last step, it’s a bitch!  HAHA!


Warchief!  Men, what’s happening here?


Da Warchief came flyin’ in on his wyvern, sir, an’ done come down unsteady on the landin’ platform.  He tumbled right offa da wyvern an’ stumbled over to da wall, an’ fell right over da edge, mon!


I saw him come in from the ground, High Overlord.  The Warchief would have been badly hurt at the least, if the wyvern hadn’t swooped down and broken his fall.


Thank the spirits for that much.  Are you all right, Warchief?

[Garrosh peers back at the High Overlord quizzically for a long moment, then breaks into a wide grin.]


You’re like, all pruney and shit, you know that, Saurfang?  HAHAHA!


Well, he appears to be in good spirits, at the very least.


Yes, sir.


His eyes be lookin’ all bloodshot, dough, sir.  Mon.


So I noticed.  I believe you men can release him, in any case.

[Razgor and To’bor release their grips on Garrosh, who stumbles forward, looks around, then starts to teeter to either side with his arms flailing around at his sides.]


Whoa, hold on!



[They catch Garrosh again and steady him, then carefully let him go again.  The wyvern walks up close to Garrosh and leans against him lightly on one side.]


To’bor, if you would, why don’t you escort the Warchief’s animal to the stables.


Yessir.  Mon.

[To’bor grasps the wyvern’s harness and tries to pull it toward the side hall.  The wyvern doesn’t budge, and after several tugs of increasing force from To’bor, it snarls at To’bor and snaps at him, forcing him to jump back.]


Okay den, now we jus’ got to show da wyvern who da boss here!

[To’bor grabs at the wyvern by the scruff of its neck and tries to pull it toward the floor.  As he does so, the wyvern spins its body in the opposite direction, yanking him over it; while he is disoriented, the wyvern grabs the hood of his cloak in its teeth, flings him onto the floor on his back, and pins him in place with one paw pressed firmly on his chest.]


HAH!  That’s awesome!  That’s it, Mortimer, show ’im who’s the alpha up in his bitch!  Hahahaheeeeee…  [Snorts.]

[To’bor struggles to get out from under the wyvern’s paw without much success.]


So, then…Warchief…since you are…well…


Varok, buddy, I’m fuckin’ fantastic.  [Chuckles incontrollably.]


Yes, I see…


[Continuously laughing while talking.]

Va-rok, Vaaaa-rok…hey, do people ever call you Rokky?  Haha…because they totally should!  You look like you could be a Rokky, dude.



Warchief, listen to me very carefully.  While you were at the D.E.H.T.A. camp, did anyone, by chance, offer you a brownie?


Haha, dude, who DIDN’T offer me a brownie?  And, and let me tell you, Rokky… Heh…heh HA… Um… Yeah, so.  So those salads they got there are shit, but dude the fuckin’ brownies are AMAZING.  I… I think I had… um…  [He holds both hands in front of his face, and moves fingers on both hands as if counting silently.]  Um, yeah, a LOT!  Hahah!


Oh dear.


I coulda been tellin’ you dat, mon.


Oh and DUDE, lemme tell you, those things are fuckin’ scumptious.  [He blinks.]  Um.  Scumptious?  No…scruntious.  Scuntious..  Sc-rrrrrunnnn-tious.  DAMMIT!  Scummmmm-ptious… UGH!  Dammit my tongue won’t say it right!


Suffice to say they were flavorful, and we move on, shall we, Warchief?


NO, fuck that shit, I’m not going to let my stupid uncooperative tongue beat me!  Scuntious!  DAMMIT!  Scruntious—FUCK, almost!  Scumptious!  Scumptious!  Scruntious!  SCUNTIOUS!  DAMMIT DEFIANT TONGUE!

[Garrosh brings both hands to his face and starts poking around his mouth angrily, eventually pinching his tongue between the fingers of one hand and holding it at full extension.  With his other hand, he hurriedly reaches behind him and draws Gorehowl.]




What you be doin’, mon?!




Hold him, men!

[Saurfang and Razgor, aided by the wyvern holding the back of Garrosh’s belt in its teeth, grapple with the Warchief and eventually manage to get Gorehowl away from him.  To’bor tries to get up to offer his aid as well, but the wyvern thwarts his every attempt to rise by flattening him against the floor again emphatically.]


Dis be a strong wyvern ya got here, mon…


Now then…Warchief …did your visit to the D.E.H.T.A. camp elucidate the current conundrum?


What the who?


Did…you learn anything?




Ah, good.  What news, then?


Have you been over there before?


I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, no, Warchief.


Okay, so check it…  [He stumbles shakily to Saurfang, puts one arm around his shoulder, and leans in close, then pokes at Saurfang’s chest with one finger every few words.]  Okay.  So.  No matter…how sick you get of the salads…  [He nods seriously a few times, then stares at Saurfang for several seconds.]  What was I saying?



[Garrosh continues his even stare for several seconds more, then looks around.]


That would be you, sir.


What?  OH YEAH, fuck, it is, right?  HAHAHA, I’m Warchief – RECOGNIZE, bitches!




[Still pinned down by the wyvern.]

For da Horde!

[Saurfang glares at them impatiently and, behind Garrosh’s back, waves at them with one hand to stop.]


So, Warchief… You were…starting to say about the D.E.H.T.A. camp?  And…something about… [He sighs briefly.]  …salads?


[His eyes go wide in recognition, and he resumes poking at Saurfang’s chest rapidly and energentically.]

OH YEAH!  Fuckin’ hell yeah!  SO!  So, so, so, um… No matter how sick you get of the salads… If they offer you a burger… [His eyes widen as his face turns very serious.]  DON’T.

[Saurfang watches him for a moment, purses his lips, then finally speaks.]


Warchief…did they know anything pertaining to the problem of the armed animals across the various zones?


HOLY SHIT THEY DID, HOW DID YOU KNOW?!  [Stares wide-eyed a moment, then starts laughing hysterically.]


And…sir…what did they tell you?


Okay, okay, so.  SO.  They were talking ’bout this…nutjob druid who was nutjobby even for them, right?  Like this guy was such a big animal lover, he didn’t even like shifting out of his animal forms, you know?


Yes, sir…


Like…like… LIKE A BEAR!  RAAAARRR!!!  HahahahahaHA!  Rar.


Yes, sir.


Hahahahahahaaaa… Like a bear!  RAR!


[Rubs his forehead.]

Yes, sir.  Like a bear.

[Garrosh leans against Saurfang, putting his face on the High Overlord’s shoulder, and laughing hysterically for a few moments.]


Warchief…please try to focus.  Was there anything else?

[Garrosh straightens up suddenly, and teeters for a moment.  Razgor runs over close in anticipation of the Warchief falling over backwards.]


OOPS!  Haha!  Um, yeah, okay.  SO.  Um… So yeah, I’ve got a name to check up on, and one of them, the birdy lady what’s-her-face, um, she said the guy used to talk a lot about Stranglethorn Vale, and plus…um…yeah, what with him being a troll, he might be wandering around in the jungle there.


Well, that’s a promising lead at least, Warchief.


Right you are, Rokky!  HAHA!  Vaaaa-rok!  Varok Varok Varok!  OH HEY!  There once was a warrior named Varok!


Here we go, mon…


Who passed on all servings of hamhock!


True, I do not eat pork.


Is that a religious thing?


No, I just don’t dig on swine, that’s all.


Now I won’t deceive you —
He’ll pummel and cleave you,
And leave your sad ass really shellshocked.

[Garrosh throws both hands into the air as he yells “EPIC VERSE!!!”  When he finished the roar, he loses his balance and spills flat onto the floor, face-down.]


Warchief!  Are you all right?


[Slightly muffled from his face being on the floor.]

You know, this map on the floor looks fucking HUGE from down here!  HAHA!  [Punches the floor a few times while laughing.]  You know what you need down here?  One of those big fur rugs.  Like…LIKE A BEAR!  HAHAHA!


Yes, sir…


Like a bear.


Rar, mon.


What was that, anyway, Warchief?


What do you mean, what was that?  That was EPIC VERSE!  HAHAHA!


I’m not sure I understand…


Do you not read the blog?


I rarely ever use that infernal machine.


Oh oh oh oh OH DUDE, you should totally get on the computer more, I could totally hook you up on Earth Online!


Should I know what that is?


It’s this thing on the internet.


Yeah, dude, it’s a really cool game.




Yeah, a computer game!


And…you play this game, sir?


Hell yeah!  I’m totally gonna sent you a RAF link after this.  HAH that sounds funny — RAAAAAF hahaha…


Warchief…you’re thirty-four years old.


RAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFF…  HAHAHAA…  [Slapping his hands randomly on the floor while he laughs.]


Come now, Warchief.

[Saurfang and Razgor help Garrosh back to his feet.  As they lift him, Garrosh points to a spot on the floor and bursts out laughing again.]


Hey Saurfang!  Hey!  Check it, see that spot right there?  That’s…hehehe…that’s the EXACT. SPOT.  Where you told me that time…haha… where you told me you’d kill me before you let me lead the Horde to ruin!

[Garrosh leans against Saurfang, laughing hysterically while draping one arm each over Saurfang and Razgor, letting them hold him up.  As his laughter grows weaker, he pulls them closer to him on either side.]



I fuckin’ love you guys!



I’m sure Thrall had his reasons…


So, yeah.  Maybe not the proudest day for me, but whatever.  At least we’ve got a lead and can see about tracking down this loose cannon druid guy.  Not sure what’s up with Saurfang’s scribe funky-ass formatting, but I guess not everybody’s going to do things Mokvar-style.  If it works for Saurfang, fine.

I’ll be heading back to Orgrimmar.  First, though, I need to see what they’ve got to eat around here.  I’m fucking STARVING, dude.  Not to mention, my sides are fucking killing me.


“Kids these days and their felweed…”

If they get out a hacky sack, I’m going home

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So after what Hamuul and Antlers were saying about the critters in Mulgore maybe getting their weapons from a druid in animal form, I got to thinking.  If there’s a druid responsible for this, it’s probably not one of the Cenarion people, seeing as Hamuul usually stays on top of shit better than that, and it’s probably not one of Antlers’ Guardian types up in Hyjal, unless Ysera is really falling asleep on the job.  (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?)  So that rules out most of your typical mainstream druids.  If a druid is behind this, it’s got to be somebody from the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe.  And when you’re talking about the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe, it doesn’t get any fringier than DEHTA.

So, guess where I’m writing from, through the wonders of wireless internet.  That’s right – right this very minute I’m up in the Borean Tundra, paying the DEHTA fuckers a visit.  I’m at their camp right now, mostly trying to figure out what the weird herbal smell around here is.

I was hoping I would get to talk to Lather-on-us – ever since he got it into his demented head that I’d gone vegetarian (HA!), he’s been at least vaguely bearable to deal with.  But, come to find out, he was off working on something away from the camp when I got here.  Nobody seems too clear on when he’s going to be back, so I guess I’m just going to have to make due with the other DEHTA people for now.

Thing is, sad as this will sound, Lather-on-us is probably the most stable one of the bunch.  With him gone, check out the crew I’ve got to deal with.

You’ve got Hierophant Cenius, who’s more or less running the store with the big guy away, and can’t seem to get through a sentence without saying “you dig, man?” and snapping her fingers like 53 times.

Then you’ve got…well…I don’t even know what his real name is, but he sits around all day wearing this retarded murloc getup, and only answers to “King Mrgl-Mrgl.”  I guess he’s actually a night elf, and had been sent to watch the Winterfin murlocs up north, only the murlocs embraced him and made him king and then he went native or some shit.  Then, the last time I was up here, Mortimer helped himself to a murloc buffet and pretty much wiped out this guy’s constituency, so now he’s back here at the camp without much to do.  Other than make retarded gargling sounds.

There’s Zaza, a frost nymph, which I’m not going to mess around with at all after the other day because NYMPHS BE CRAZY.

And then you’ve got Killinger the Den Watcher, or as I like to call him Killinger the Obsessive-Compulsive, who doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to shift out of bear form, and more importantly, doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to use soap, because holy shit, seriously.  Honest to fuck, dude, the patchouli oil isn’t fooling anyone.  Now I know what you’re thinking on this one – druid stuck in animal form, maybe this is our guy.  I was thinking that too, only that brings us to our next item, the whole obsessive-compulsive thing.  Dude just keeps walking in a circle around the middle of the camp, counting to himself out loud.  “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,” on and on and on.  Just in the time I’ve been here he’s gotten up to 3219.

At one point when he rolled over 2000, I decided to mess with him, and started yelling random numbers.  He got all spastic for a second, then walked back to this one spot in the camp, nodded his head three times, then started circling the same old path while counting off “one thousands” again.  I waited for him to crack 1000 and started doing the random numbers again.  Same deal – walked back to the exact same spot, three nods, went back to circling, “one one thousand, two one thousand.”  I am willing to roll the dice on this guy not being our diabolical mastermind.

So this is Lather-on-us’ braintrust.  Hard to believe Hemet Nesingwary is still up and kicking, isn’t it?

Anyway, I’ve been hanging around here for a while now, trying to choke down a salad that doesn’t even have the common decency to have bacon bits on it.  The DEHTA fuckers have been friendly enough mostly, but it’s hard as hell to keep them on topic, and then when I get irritated and try to respectfully suggest that they could maybe try pulling their heads out of their fucking asses for like two minutes, they start calling me “Herbert” over and over, whatever that means, and then chuckle like morons.  All I’ve been able to get out of them so far is that they don’t seem to know anything about animals being armed, but a few months ago there used to be some new guy hanging out with them, a troll named Tembw’bam, who was all about animal liberation and fighting The (hu)Man(oids), and “any means necessary,” and eventually he got them all going “Whew, this guy’s crazy,” and they sent him on his way.  Which, seriously, when the fucking DEHTA people think you’re a nutjob?  Time to say “check please” to life, dude.

They’re not sure what happened to him, though.  They think one of their other people, Hierophant Liandra, might remember a little more, but she’s out patrolling for trappers right now.  They think she should be back soon, so I’m going to hang around the camp here for a little longer, or at least until I get too sick of these people to keep it up.  Thank goodness for the internet, is all I’m going to say.  You peeps on Twitter?  You know who you are – right now you are single-handedly keeping my sanity.  Because what the holy FUCK is a tofu burger?  Ffs.

The Tuskarr and the Mortimer

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 26, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream


So here it is – the final installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge!  Thanks to everyone who participated, whether by giving suggestions for poems, or just coming by to read the latest submissions.  And so, without further ado…


The sun was shining on the sea
Beneath the Borean sky;
The waves were waving to and fro,
The crests were cresting high.
And that it was a glorious day
No creature could deny.
To Warsong Hold a zeppelin
Brought Garrosh with his bunch.
He’d come to visit D.E.H.T.A.’s camp
And have a little lunch.
And this was strange, since most of them
He would much rather punch.
But he had come to humor them
And show a little class;
He figured this way it might keep
Lather-on-us off his ass.
So he’d choke down a salad
And, with luck, would not get gas.
So as the Warchief wandered off
To find the D.E.H.T.A base,
He left his wyvern free to fly
And soar at his own pace,
Since frankly it was just as well
He stay clear of that place.
So Mortimer went flying ’round
Exploring as he may,
And came upon a Kalu’ak
Outside of Unu’pe.
The Tuskarr greeted him and said,
“Hail, wyvern!  Frabjous day!”
The wyvern landed near; the Tuskarr
Said, “Now let us see –
I feel that in my travels
I could use some company.
So, wyvern, let me ask you,
Would you like to come with me?”
The friendly Mortimer just gave
A nod and then a bark;
He figured that he might as well
Go with him as a lark.
And so away from Unu’pe
The pair did disembark.
The Tuskarr and the Mortimer
Went strolling in a rank,
Across the Geyser Fields and past
Airstrip of Fizzlecrank
(Where Mortimer left for the gnomes
Some droppings as a prank).
Along the northern coast they found
A village, and therein,
A mob of mumbling Murlocs
From the tribe of Winterfin.
The Tuskarr said, “Aha!  And so
Our fun can now begin!”
“Hail, Murlocs!” said the Tuskarr
As the Murloc ranks increased.
“Good day!” he said; they gathered
As the village was policed.
“And since we’re friends, good Murlocs,
We’ll make you a quite fine feast!”
The unsuspecting Murlocs beamed.
“Tell me, have you a pot?”
And at the Tuskarr’s question
A great cauldron out was brought.
The Tuskarr set his pack down
And said, “Now, what have I got?”
The Tuskarr opened up his pack
And set aside his hat.
He started to unpack some herbs,
Vegetables, bacon fat.
“Now while the water boils,
Murlocs, let’s have a little chat.”
So Mortimer just sat nearby –
A curious scene, he thought.
The Tuskarr sliced some carrots
And tossed them into the pot.
Some onions, too, and celery,
While all of it grew hot.
“The time has come,” the Tuskarr said,
“To talk of many things:
Of pigs—of guns—of crab fishwives—
Of eggmen and Lich Kings,
Of countless Kael’thas setbacks,
And of why fey dragons sing.”
“Grr-blrrrrgll-grarrrrlllllb,” the Murlocs said;
The Tuskarr said, “Indeed!
Another fine point, Murlocs,
Oh, that I will concede.”
“Brrrr-blarrrrrbgggll,” said the Murlocs;
Mortimer paid little heed.
“Aha!” the Tuskarr said, “It seems
The cooking broth is done!
We’re ready to begin!”  But then
He saw he’d have no fun.
For Mortimer already, well,
Had eaten every one.
The Tuskarr grew so very mad
And cried, “You little twerp!”
He hardly could believe his plan
The wyvern would usurp.
And Mortimer just shrugged and then
Let out a little burp.
Thus concludes our charming tale
Of Murloc genocide,
Of wyvern walrus wandering
And fish-man woe betide.
A happier ending I don’t think
I ever could provide.





[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks.  Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,806 other followers