Archive for hearthglen

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 2, 2015 by Garrosh Hellscream

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So if you’re reading this, it means that this pre-scheduled post I had Spazzle rig up for me has kicked in.  See, I figured it’d been a while since I dipped into the ol’ mailbag, only I wasn’t sure how long I was going to wind up being tied up with the whole Blackrock Spire business, so I had Spazzle set this thing up so this mailbag post would go up automatically if I didn’t get back by a certain point.  Which, if the post has gone up and you’re seeing it, totally raises the perfectly fair question WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON DOWN THERE I MEAN SERIOUSLY

ANYWAY.

On to the mail!

Dearest warchief,

I have heard of your feats of battle, and wish to know, How did you get so good at fighting? do you have a secret trainer? what’s your favourite move? and lastly, is Gorehowl hard to wield?

I have heard of this daughter of yours, and would like to offer my services as a teacher if you wish. P.S i am a blood elf death knight.

Salamah’ashala noreh, warchief. (Goodbye/farewell)

–Ranacore Bloodblade

Hey, Ranacore, thanks for writing.  No secret trainer, no real secret source for my combat badassery in general.  Just talent, son, pure talent.  A long childhood history of people in Garadar talking shit about my dad didn’t hurt, what with all the opportunities it afforded me to practice kicking ass at an early age.

Favorite move?  I’d have to go with the plain ol’ time-honored axe to the face.  I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.

Yes and no on the Gorehowl question.  See, it’s perfectly balanced – you’ll never find an axe that’s better crafted in terms of distributing its weight and mass to lend itself to generating force while maintaining flexibility.  Somebody really did a job and a half designing it.  But at the same time…man, that motherfucker is heavy as shit.  Which leads to a whole lot of people stumbling over, the first time they try to pick it up.

As for training Shayari, I think I’ve got that covered.  Plus, she’s a mage, so I figure most of her training would be out of your area of expertise, seeing as you’re a death knight and all.  On the other hand, you’re also a blood elf, so maybe you could show her, I don’t know, some fashion tips or hairstyling techniques, since I think maybe she’s into that shit.

Many thanks for the answers Warchief.  As an aside, seeing as how you cavorted with the Draenei yourself, would it be presumptuous to look for a little leniency if I hook up with one myself?  As a Tauren, the horns and hooves (and hips and tail) are kind of a turn on.  I mean c’mon, what’s good for the Warchief should be cool for the rest of us, right?

–Karlsohn, Thunder Bluff

Dude, you think I’m not paying for that one?  We all make our iffy decisions, Karlsohn, and some of them come back to haunt you, but only the very, very special ones have birthdays.

Greetings Honorable Warchief Hellscream,

We have a small problem in Pandaria: Gnomes. Mainly the dead ones. The Yaungol just love to kill them. I will not deceive you and say that I understand why the Yaungol kill these creatures, let alone roast their bodies. Seriously, it smells like bacon around their camps these days. Many of my Omnia trainees, especially the younger ones just past their Trial of the Red Blossoms, mistake it for actual bacon. It has led to some…uncomfortable moments. I am also no lover of gnomes. They are creepy with their bouncing, unnatural perkiness, and candy colored hair (also, those pigtails? Definitely NOT made of candyfloss. Lao Chin found this out the hard way). At least the Grummles have a use with ferrying supplies to our Monastery! So I ask of you, is there some use for these roasted Gnomes? I thank you for any advice you have to offer.

–Shen Wei Pureblossom, Healer of the Shado-Pan

So…while I’ve been a long-time supporter of the idea that the only good gnome is a dead gnome…roasted gnome?  Fuck if I know.  Probably the only thing roasted gnomes could have going for them is that they ARE dead – emphatically dead, in fact, like way past the point where someone could come along and raise them as undead gnomes, because CREEPY AS FUCK.

So, on the down side, I don’t really have an answer for you as far as what roasted gnomes are good for.  On the plus side, I think we DO have an answer as far as what yaungol are good for.

Hail Warchief,

I write to you seeking honest answers regarding our ongoing war with the Alliance and when it will end (as all wars must). Some time ago, my mate Detanga marched off to war as a soldier in your army. She would return home from many a battle with a few scars and some tales to tell our two children.

Just the other day, a grim Blackrock orc shoved her notice of death into my hand.

My heart burns with the desire to track down her killers and tear them apart, but I am a breeder of wolves, not a warrior. I would not last five minutes in battle. Detanga was always the stronger of us two. She served in a unit as part of our initial invasion into this land of Pandaria, but she died while defending our port there, Domination Point, during a cowardly Alliance attack.

I beg of you Warchief, send what forces you can to the Alliance’s port, this so-called Lion’s Landing. I am not the only one on my street to lose family in the attack. The blood of the fallen must be repaid! Know that had I the power, I would take this charge myself, but I am no warrior, as I have said.

Yours faithfully,

–Ogunaro Wolfrunner, Kennel Master

Way to bring the room down, man.  Yeesh.

I mean…um… Sorry for your loss, Ogunaro.  (By the by, any relation to Shyrka Wolfrunner?)  Your mate must have fallen during one of a bunch of Alliance raids on Domination Point a couple months ago.  All of them were repelled, but there were heavy losses in some cases – Warlord Bloodhilt among them, in the same raid as your Detanga if I remember right.  Know that she died victorious, with honor, driving off our enemies and reminding them one more time what happens when they cross our people.

You’re right, though – they have another reminder coming to them.  As it happens, I have Wolf-Rider Gaja, Dark Cleric Laresa, Thauma…um…Thamautu… Them…some blood what’s name is Saresse, and a few others, working on a counterstrike.  When we roll over that kiddie-building-block castle they call a fortress, I’ll see to it you have a front-row seat.

Also, unrelated, seeing as you’re a kennel master: Do you have any tips for cleaning, um, wyvern stains?  Mortimer’s gotten…well, let’s say, kind of uneven about minding himself.  Although it IS kind of funny when he makes Malkorok have to toss out yet another pair of boots.

Most Honorable Warchief,

I have been reading your blog in its entirety on the recommendation of a friend from Thunder Bluff (it helps with my downtime as part of the Northrend cleanup crew). I noticed you have a…violent dislike of Magatha Grimtotem. As a Tauren loyal to Thunder Bluff and a former Grimtotem as well, I would offer up my axe at a chance to help you hunt her down. I missed my chance when the crone was in chains in Thousand Needles, but I would not let you down. I had grown disillusioned with her leadership some time before her treachery against Thunder Bluff was known, and when it was…well, that was the straw that broke the kodo’s back.

–Bahunada Darkhide of the Runetotems

PS: Would you mind if she was slightly “tenderized” before being brought before your judgment?

Oh fuck yes.  FUCK THE HELL YES.  Have at it, Bahunada.  (By the way, I don’t know if you were aware of this, but your name is a grade-A bitch to type.)  Go track her down in whatever cave she’s slithered into these days, smack her around, and drag her ass in.  Feel free to take as many liberties as you want when it comes to the smacking around.  I want her alive, mind you, but other than outright killing her, listen to your heart.  Remember, “clinging to life” still counts as alive.

Oh, and while you’re at it, if you run into that other fucker Johnny Awesome – you know, the one who fucking LET MAGATHA LOOSE IN THE FIRST PLACE when she was all chained up in Thousand Needles way back when – feel free to open up as many cans of smack-smack-stab-die on HIS ass as you want, too.  You’ll note that the whole “bring ’em in alive” thing is totally optional in his case.

Lok’tar Warchief!

I took alot of what you said to heart and I’ve been doing those errands all over the place! First I went to Silverpine. It’s really smelly there. Like, worse than the Troll area in the city, but it doesn’t make me giggly like the Troll area does. And it’s all spooky there with all the walking corpses. It’s just not cool. Stonetalon was better, until I met Mr. Dontrag and Mr. Utvoch. They really are kinda stupid, aren’t they? They weren’t as bad as that Tirion guy. First he sat me down for a good two hours to just talk. I kinda tuned him out after the first ten minutes, although I wish I coulda hit him with my shield! I think that Daria lady wouldn’t have liked it, though. His stupid trainees are super weak and lazy too! I think I made one of those elfs cry after smacking them around a bit. Alot of them didn’t stand a chance, although their trainer thought I was a boy! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?! He sent me on a bunch of stupid errands his trainees were too lazy or beat up to do. I showed those dumb trainees how a real orc gets things done and what does Tirion do? He starts to rage at me, then thanks me for “rooting out a traitor to the Crusade” or whatever he said. I started tuning it out when he got going again. He also smelled funny, but more like Gamon after he’s kicked out of the inn.

I found my warrior calling too! I really like smacking things with a shield and protecting my fellow orcs! Mostly the shield smacking, though.

Mirembe, Orgrimmar

Hey, Mirembe.  Nice work on the warrioring.  Especially nice work on the shield bashing.  Not really my thing, mind you, but it’s always good to have some tanky types around, especially considering most trainees don’t want to bother with the job when they can just run around blowing shit up, metaphorically or otherwise.  I might have to look into getting you an extra goodie bag or something.

It’s good that you’re keeping busy, even if…well, I mean, it sounds like you’ve been mostly surrounding yourself with less than the best company.  Not that I’m one to talk.  But believe me, I know all too well about the fail that happens when you let the jackass cocktail of Dontrag/Utvoch/Tirion into your life.

I haven’t seen Tirion for a while now – yay for me, sucks for you – but I’m not surprised he’s still yammering on.  And I mean “still yammering on” as in still yammering on about whatever bullshit he was saying last time I saw him, months ago, without even coming up for air.  And you know, as much as I hate cutting any slack to those Argent Dawn Crusade Talk to the Silver Hand people…like… yeah, I’m sure the trainees up there ARE weak and lazy.  They’re probably fucking EXHAUSTED.  Wouldn’t YOU be, if you had to listen to Highlord Paragraph all day every day?

As for the Wonder Twins…shit, I don’t even know WHAT D&U would have been doing back in Stonetalon.  I mean, they’ve been on detachment down in Pandaria, and they’ve just been in Orgrimmar temporarily while a bunch of us have been back for a check-in, so… I don’t know, maybe they’re up there visiting someone?  Do they even have friends?  Poor fuckers, if so.  Or, I don’t know, maybe they got confused and went right back to their old posts in Stonetalon, because after all, “confused” is pretty much a default state for those two.  It’s not like they’ve been reassigned back to Overlord Cliffwalker where they’d be stuck back up there permanently…and…um…back to being HIS headache, and out of my hair, and…

Um…

Hang on.

I need to go look for a form.

As always, keep those letters coming!  Next mailbag April 6!  E-mail garrosh1337@gmail.com or submit your message below:

Return pilgrimage to Hearthglen

Posted in Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , on August 3, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

After Tirion’s aide Daria sent me that letter the other day, I arranged to take a trip back over to Hearthglen to see what we can do to help Faranell with whatever problems he’s having adjusting.  I brought Mokvar with me for note-taking purposes – and had to listen to him complain about all the zeppelin miles I’ve had him logging lately for my troubles – and also sent a message up to Liadrin in Silvermoon that Faranell’s having some issues and we’ll keep her posted on what we end up doing.

I ended up being delayed in Orgrimmar a little, getting Nazgrim and Drok set up on a few recon missions we need tended to, but after that we finally caught our zeppelin to the Undercity.  We arrived in Hearthglen this afternoon and got escorted straight up to Mardenholde Keep.  Tirion was there, obviously, and joining us at the conference table upstairs was the man of the hour himself, Faranell.

 

TIRION:  Again I’d like to thank you gentlemen for coming to meet with us.  It truly is a testament to your dedication to your people that even now, after a change that leaves your colleague adrift on the opposite side of what has, in many quarters, grown to be a contentious racial divide, even now you rush to the side of your comrade at the first word of his difficulties.  And doubtless, with such friendship to rally to his side—

GARROSH:  Seriously, dude, I’ve been in town like ten minutes and you’re already on round three of this speech.  Can we just get on with it already?

TIRION:  As you wish, Warchief.

GARROSH:  Thank the spirits.

TIRION:  In that case, I suppose this would be the time to defer to our friend Dr. Faranell.  I felt under the circumstances it might be best to include him in our deliberations, such that he might provide a first-hand account of his difficulties.

GARROSH:  So Doc, Tirion says you’ve been seeing things?  Visions, maybe?

FARANELL:  That’s just it, though.  I’m not “seeing things” as if they were just appearing around me.

TIRION:  This, you see, Warchief, is the line of discussion that prompted me to contact you on the matter at hand.  Please do go on, Doctor.

FARANELL:  Well, for instance, the first time it happened, I was walking down toward the front gates… I distinctly remember looking over at the mill…and then I felt dizzy for a few seconds.  I looked around again, and it was as if I were in Dalaran, in my old study there.

GARROSH:  Still sounds like a hallucination, just on a bigger scale – maybe one of the buildings you were walking by reminded you of Dalaran, or…?

FARANELL:  <shakes his head>  It wasn’t just the place, though.  I was in my study, sitting in my old chair, and Kel’Thuzad was there.  He was talking about some…new types of spells he’d been trying out.  After the first few words, I recognized what he was saying – it was a conversation we’d had about a year ago.  Well…it used to be a year ago…

GARROSH:  Hmm.  So it was a flashback.

MOKVAR:  Makes sense that he might have them, really.  <nods at Faranell>  That you would have them, I mean.  Sorry, Edwin…

FARANELL:  <shrugs>  It’s fine.  I’m starting to get used to people talking about me as if I’m not in the room.

MOKVAR:  Anyway, though.  I’m not surprised that you’re flashing back to some of your memories from before, strange as everything here must be for you now…

FARANELL:  But that’s the thing.  It wasn’t just a memory.

GARROSH:  How do you mean?

FARANELL:  I wasn’t just watching myself having this conversation I’d had before.  I was watching Kel’Thuzad talk, and then after a minute, he looked at me, and I must have had a strange look on my face, because I said I looked confused and asked if I was all right.  And that definitely wasn’t something that happened originally.

GARROSH:  So the memory was your starting point, and then you started interacting with it.  Sort of like a dream.

FARANELL:  Maybe.  I don’t know.  It all seemed so real.  And every detail seemed exactly right.

GARROSH:  Well you do have that super-memory.  Makes sense that you’d fill in the details really well.

TIRION:  It does, indeed, makes sense that one blessed with such a memory – eidetic, I believe, if I recall the terminology correctly – would likewise be, conversely, cursed in such a circumstance as this with hallucinations of an enhanced degree of verisimilitude, such that one might indeed have difficulty distinguishing the illusion from reality.

GARROSH:  Yeah, T-Ford, that’s what I just said, only with like half the words.

MOKVAR:  Edwin, you said that was the first time it happened.  How long ago was that?

FARANELL:  Almost two weeks now.

GARROSH:  How many more times has it happened since then?

FARANELL:  Three more.

GARROSH:  What did you see then?

FARANELL:  Once, it was just after I’d arrived at the inn in Southshore…that last time I was there.

MOKVAR:  I can see how your thoughts might go there, especially early on…

FARANELL:  Another time, it was three years ago, at my brother’s wedding.  In the middle of making my toast, of all things… I was standing there with everyone staring at me, like I’d just stopped in mid-sentence…

GARROSH:  Okay…so flashing back to fairly major events in your life.  I mean, it must suck for you to be going through it, but it does kind of add up, considering…

FARANELL:  You would think that’s what it is, yes, but here’s the problem.  The third time wasn’t something I remember happening at all.

GARROSH:  What was the third one?

TIRION:  This is, you will find, the most troubling of the set…

FARANELL:  I was back in Brill.  The town was being attacked.  Ghouls, skeletons, zombies…every kind of undead you can think of.  I was with a few other townspeople, trying to help fight them off…but they kept coming, and…I think I died.

GARROSH:  You…what?

FARANELL:  I don’t know.  But…it felt like dying.  <shrugs>  Not that I’ve ever died before, to know.

Garrosh, Mokvar, and Tirion exchange looks.  Faranell watches them grimly.

FARANELL:  It’s how I died, isn’t it?

Garrosh looks to Tirion for a moment, then back to Faranell.

FARANELL:  Not me me, obviously.  But…the other me.  The one you knew.  That…became one of them.  It’s how he died.

GARROSH:  The thing of it is…I don’t know.  It sounds like it could have been, but I don’t know.

FARANELL:  He was killed by the Scourge, wasn’t he?

TIRION:  Aye.  As were many – far too many – some years ago.

GARROSH:  But I don’t know the details.  Did he…well, the other you.  What did he tell you in the letter he wrote you?  About how he died.

FARANELL:  Not very much.  Just that he was killed when the Scourge swept through Lordaeron, and was raised as undead not long afterward.

TIRION:  I would imagine the undead incarnation of Dr. Faranell would have seen little purpose in filling out the details of such an event, insofar as he would have envisioned his younger self as being safely relocated to a time well removed from such events.  If anything, he likely would hardly have wished to revisit the experience himself…

GARROSH:  And so that’s the problem, at least for us here.

MOKVAR:  <nods>  Right.  We don’t have anything to compare this to.  So what you saw, Edwin, could have been how the other version of you died…or it could just be hw you imagine he would have died.

FARANELL:  Yeah…

GARROSH:  And the shitty part of it is there’s really no way for us to check on something like that, so we might just have to have to have have neewteb to ni have just stneve have eht lla have to ot stisiv to modnar syap dna syas eh semit ynam htaed if dna htrib sih nees sah eh you eerht ytxis neetenin ni flesmih dnif go ot rood taht hguorht kcab enog to sah eh eno ytrof neetenin ni kypari eno rehtona tuo emoc dna evif zar ytfif neetenin ni rood a hguorht you deklaw sah eh yad gniddew sih will no denekawa dna rewodiw elines a die peels ot enog sah yllib emit lines ni kcutsnu lines emoc supply lines sah supply mirglip supply yllib supply supply lines supply lines, so getting ammunition OUT here in much quantity is going to be a problem.

MOKVAR:  Just based on our trip up here, I’d say that’s only going to get more difficult.

LIADRIN:  I’m only too aware.

GARROSH:  I don’t think you are, though.

LIADRIN:  What do you mean?

GARROSH:  We passed Andorhal on the way here.  Tirion’s arrived.

LIADRIN:  By the light…

GARROSH:  <nods>  I lost eight Kor’kron just in passing, and had them raised right in front of my eyes.

LIADRIN:  <sighs>  We were already getting pinned in badly enough here, without coming under siege by an enemy who knows our defenses and capabilities better than we know ourselves…  Daria?

DARIA:  Yes, ma’am?

LIADRIN:  Have a messenger sent to Lord Tyrosus at Light’s Hope to ask for aid…

DARIA:  Yes, my Lady.

Daria runs out.

GARROSH:  Also…I think it might be time for us to start considering the backup plan you’d suggested.  If we can get some kind of improvised docking structure up, I should be able to get a gunship here to evacuate Hearthglen, and from there you and I can make the make the the meht make stseretni the i taht the tnemom yna the can ta kool can nac yeht dna era stnemom eht if lla tnenamrep woh ees you nac yeht ecnatsni rof go sniatnuom ykcor eht fo to hcterts a ta kool kypari nac ew yaw eht zar tsuj stnemom tnereffid eht you lla ta kool nac will snairodamaflart eht tsixe lliw die syawla detsixe evah syawla to erutuf dna to tneserp have to tsap have stnemom have lla have have to have to wait and see on any other cases, if they happen, and… Edwin?  Are you okay?

Faranell looks around the room, disoriented and visibly shaken, then lets out a sigh.

TIRION:  Dr. Faranell?

FARANELL:  It happened again…

GARROSH:  Just now?

Faranell nods.

TIRION:  What did you see this time, Doctor?

FARANELL:  I was…in a wooded area.  Dark, dreary…not sure where, exactly… There were orcs with me, fighting beside me…

GARROSH:  Fighting what?

FARANELL:  A group of… <pauses a moment as if searching for a word> …tauren, I think?

GARROSH:  It must have been a pretty quick fight.  You were talking not even a minute ago.

FARANELL:  No… That is, I wasn’t there long, but…it was at least a good five minutes.

MOKVAR:  No.

GARROSH:  It couldn’t have been.

TIRION:  Dr. Faranell, I can assure you, you were engaged in this very conversation with is until mere seconds ago.  There most certainly was not a window of some minutes during which you could have perceived the events you describe.

MOKVAR:  I remember reading once that dreams happen in a sort of condensed time…

GARROSH:  How’s that?

MOKVAR:  Just that when you have a dream, if it seems like ten minutes pass in the dream, it’s really only taking your brain a few seconds to experience it.  It just seems longer to you.

GARROSH:  Holy shit, that’s freaky.

MOKVAR:  Strange but true.

TIRION:  That would lend credence to our suspicion that the good doctor is suffering from a terrible affliction of the imagination…

FARANELL:  No, I’m telling you, I was there.

GARROSH:  Edwin, you were right here with us the whole time.

FARANELL:  I wasn’t imagining it.  It was happening.

GARROSH:  Okay, okay.  Fine.  Maybe so.  So much weird shit seems to happen to us, what’s one more thing.

TIRION:  It would appear indeed, gentlemen, that oddities do gravitate toward you.  A phenomenon to which I cannot say I find myself impervious, for if you recall—

GARROSH:  I’d really rather not, T-Ford.

TIRION:  Oh.  As you prefer, Warchief…

GARROSH:  Anyway… I suppose this is all we’re going to work out in one sitting.  We should probably let you get back home.

TIRION:  Miss L’Rayne?

DARIA:  Yes, Highlord?

TIRION:  Is the good doctor’s family still here?

DARIA:  Yes, sir.  His brother is waiting for him downstairs.

TIRION:  Excellent.  If you would be so kind, please escort the doctor down.

MOKVAR:  Hang in there, Edwin.

GARROSH:  Don’t worry, Doc.  We’ll get this figured out yet.

Faranell nods to them glumly.  Daria leads him out of the room.  Garrosh, Mokvar, and Tirion sit quietly for a moment.

GARROSH:  So what do we think’s really going on with him?

MOKVAR:  I’ve got nothing.

TIRION:  I too am at a loss for words, Warchief.

GARROSH:  You know, under different circumstances, that sentence would have been fucking spectacular, but…

TIRION:  I suppose I might venture, however…

GARROSH:  Oh.  Here we go.  That didn’t last long.

TIRION:  …though I cannot offer any helpful conjecture on the good doctor’s current, troubling condition—

GARROSH:  Oh so he doesn’t have anything helpful to say.  Watch him keep talking anyway.

TIRION:  —I would, whoever, hasten to commend you gentlemen on the camaraderie and fellowship that has compelled you to journey once again to our fine sanctuary, in hopes of aiding a friend whom in a very real sense you do not truly know.  It is steadfast commitment to honor, not unlike that demonstrated by your noble kinsman Eitrigg, without whose aid I likely would not be with us here today – have I told you the tale, as an aside?  I do not recall if ever I have regaled you with that episode from years gone past.

GARROSH:  Listen, I brought Dontrag and Utvoch with me again.  Don’t make me use them.

 

So…that’s where we stand.  A whole lot of nothing, and maybe an ounce or two more of YEEEESH.  For right now we’re just going to have to keep an eye or twelve on Faranell and see if anything else happens.  Let’s hope not.  But then again, I know our luck.

More soon.

“Daria’s Pro Tip for Dealing with Tirion #14: Never make eye contact. Eye contact makes him assume you’re interested, and increases word output by 25%.”

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 30, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

It’s been a while since the last mailbag, so while I’ve got a break in the action, let’s see what’s piled up the last few weeks…

 

Dear Warchief,

Since Faranell has effectively retired from the Royal Apothecary Society, I’m wondering if Sylvanas is taking applications for a new Master Apothecary?  I’m a veteran alchemist who’s been at the craft for several years.  I even worked out a formula to turn myself into a dragon – rar!  Any chance you could put in a good word for me?

–Karelien, Silvermoon City

Sorry to tell you, Karelien, the master apothecary job is already filled.  Once it got decided that Faranell was being moved over to Hearthglen, Sylvanas went ahead and did a promotion from within, and appointed Apothecary Zinge to take over as head of the RAS.  If you want, I could maybe see about getting you into some kind of entry-level position over there.  Not what you were shooting for, I know, but you have to start somewhere.  I get the sense that Sylvanas doesn’t do a lot of hiring from the outside, so if you want to have any shot at all at the higher positions, you probably need to already be on the ladder.

If you do land a job over there, by the way, could I maybe ask you to keep an eye on Overseer Kraggosh, and just try to discourage him from packing away so many cheesy steak melts?  I’m all for steak, but I swear the Undercity’s got rivers of viscous slime that have a smoother flow to them than that dude’s arteries.

 

Hey mon,

Do you know where Mankrik’s wife be at?

–Bob, Echo Isles

Oh, geez, this guy again.

I already addressed this one like a zillion times last year, when I was making an inspection stop in the Barrens.  Where – just to recap – somebody was asking about Mankrik’s wife like every five minutes.  Over and over.  Fuck, people are annoying.

Here’s where the joke’s on you, though, Bobby-Boy.  Back THEN, I might have taken the bait and started ranting at you about his wife having a memorial and all that shit.  NOW, though, you ask me where Mankrik’s wife is, and you know what?  You’re gonna have to specify WHICH ONE.  That’s right, over the last year or so, our boy Mankrik has managed to calm down a little (and holy shit did he need it), courtesy of a whole bunch of consoling and support from this Earthen Ring shaman named Mahka.  The two of them wound up growing pretty close, and a few months ago, they decided to make it official and held a quiet life-mate ceremony in Mulgore.  If you’re wondering why you didn’t hear about this, well, let’s face it, Thrall’s wedding pretty much pushed everybody else’s deal to the back pages.  Self-Important Green Savior Finally Gets Some, stop the presses.  Whatever.

Oh, and for the record, the first Mrs. Mankrik?  Still dead.  Let’s hope things stay that way (you never know about that shit these days), or things might get kind of awkward.

 

Hey Warchief,

So, crossbow to your head, what do you think – Mylune or Garona?  You know what I’m askin.

–Backstab Bladeflurry

Okay, so before I answer your question, Backstab, I have to ask.  That’s your name?  Seriously?  Backstab Bladeflurry?  I mean, I KNOW that can’t be your ACTUAL name, because I don’t think ANYONE could hate their kid that much.  But you know, the thought that you made up a name for yourself, and that’s the one you came up with…that might actually be even sadder.  Seriously, dude, how old are you?  Because that sounds like the kind of name you would get if you let a 10-year-old name himself, assuming “Videogame K. Dinosaur” was already taken.

Also, I’m guessing you’re…what…a rogue?  Gonna stick my neck WAY out there.  Come on, man, if you’re going to make up a name for yourself, it’s bad enough you’re making it a stupid-sounding name.  But a stupid-sounding name that’s just a list or your class abilities?  Come on.  Do you think people would take me seriously if I went around introducing myself as Overpower Heroicstrike?  Or maybe Saurfang could start calling himself Cleave McCleaveyouagain?  (To be fair, he might possibly be able to carry that off.)  Or, hey, Liadrin is a paladin, maybe she should start calling herself Holy Divine Light Shield Shock Hammer Flash Righteous Hand.  Really, the only time that kind of a name even kind of worked was with Rend Blackhand, and look how great things wound up going for him.

Anyway, I just had to get that out of my system.  Now for your question.

No.

 

Dear Warchief,

I’m writing to ask if you have any idea why people keep trying to kill me.  I’m generally a fairly peaceful fellow, but random strangers keep coming into the inn where I’m just trying to have a drink and attacking me.  I don’t want to hurt anyone, but they’re not leaving me any choice but to defend myself.  But I don’t understand why they keep doing it.

–Gamon, Orgrimmar

Yeah, Gamon, I’ve heard the ruckus over there a few times, what with you having to lay the smackdown on some noobs every once in a while.  Gotta be honest, this one has me stumped.  I can’t think of any reason people might have for coming after you, you’ve always seemed like a pretty good dude to me.  Maybe… I know it’s kind of the pat to-go answer for people going all violent and hostile, but I don’t know, like…the Old Gods?  Maybe?  Dunno.

Good luck not dying, though.

 

Dear Warchief Hellscream:

I am writing to you on behalf of His Lordship, the honorable Tirion Fordring.  In the interests of saving time and paper, I have volunteered to write this note to you in the Highlord’s stead.

The Highlord appreciates the faith you demonstrated in entrusting him with the supervision of Dr. Edwin Faranell.  In that same spirit of good faith, the Highlord wishes to make you aware of certain oddities that have recently occurred involving the doctor.

The good doctor has generally been adjusting well to his new life here in Hearthglen, but the past several days he has experienced momentary bouts of disorientation, in which he has become briefly confused as to what is going on around him.  Following these episodes, he has claimed to have experienced what would seem to be a kind of hallucination: seeing and hearing events transpiring around him that clearly did not occur.

The Highlord suspects that the doctor is suffering from some sort of mental distress as a result of the radical change his life has undertaken.  Lord Fordring is quite concerned about Dr. Faranell’s well-being, and would welcome the opportunity to discuss this turn of events with you further.  We have faith that we may yet guide the doctor to a successful acclimation to his current time and place.

–Daria L’Rayne, Argent Crusade

Oh crap, here we go.  I’d hoped that Faranell would be able to settle in without any problems, but I guess that was wishful thinking.  I can’t say I’m really surprised that he’s kind of shellshocked by the whole thing – I mean, if YOU woke up one morning and all of a sudden it was years later, and half the people you used to know were dead, and the other half were zombies, and whole dominions had risen and fallen, and spirits know how many other things had gone down, yeah, you’d probably have a hard time just walking that off, too.  I know I would probably shit a brick.

So, I guess I’m going to need to take a trip over to Eastern Kingdoms again to go see Tirion.  I wonder if there’s any way I could get this Daria chick to hold the info session rather than Tirion, though – she seems like she would probably be a lot less painful to talk to, not least of all because I’m pretty sure this letter would have filled up about 37 pages minimum if it were Tirion writing it.  Damn good thing he’s got a logging camp right nearby, considering all the paper he probably goes through, is all I’m gonna say.

So, yeah, I’ll have to see about getting that trip lined up.  That said, though, seriously, I was just OVER in Eastern Kingdoms like two days ago.  Would it really KILL people to time these crises so that I don’t have to go zig-zagging all over the map?  So fucking inconsiderate.

 

That’s all for this week.  I’m going to try to be a little more consistent about posting mailbags, so keep those letters and questions coming – first because it’s always good to hear from my loyal readers and minions, second because I’m always happy (well, usually happy…well, sometimes happy…okay, okay, occasionally it doesn’t totally piss me off) to answer your questions, and third because YOUR WARCHIEF DEMANDS IT.  Send those letters to me at garrosh1337@gmail.com, and I’ll do another roundup in a couple weeks.

A sort of homecoming

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

 

It took some doing, but we managed to get Faranell somewhat calmed down.  Since he woke up, Liadrin’s been the only one who’s been able to approach him with any success, so after we received the buried letters from Southshore, I had her go to deliver his.  After that, we left him mostly to himself for a couple days, because seriously, the reality of the situation is more than anyone could be expected to digest.  Last thing he needed was to have extra people coming at him while the whole world was going topsy-turvy.  I can’t imagine what it must be like trying to come to terms with everything he’s just gotten dropped on him.

The only break in his seclusion came after the first day, when he asked Liadrin to let him see what had become of Lordaeron.  She was smart enough to send word over to the Undercity to have them clear everyone out of the upper ruins – she figured the sight of what had become of the city would be enough for him to try to deal with, without undead Deathguards wandering around.  When he finally went over, Liadrin tells me, he was viably shaken by the sight, and when they went into the throne room, he just knelt by that little blood stain on the floor – the one that nobody has ever bothered to clean up FOR WHAT REASON I CANNOT IMAGINE – and just stared off into space with his head tilted as if he was listening to something.  He finally pulled himself together and asked to go back, in a voice that was barely audible.  He hadn’t talked to anyone since then, until this morning.

While that was going on, I was working on what to do about his situation.  He can’t stay in the Undercity – it would be cruel, for one thing, to try to make him live there, or in any of the towns held by the Forsaken now, considering what he remembers them being like, literally just a few days ago from his point of view.  Plus, I don’t much like having him somewhere filled with Sylvanas’ people, considering her first reaction to learning about the new-old Faranell was to refurbish him to be closer to the other model.

Orgrimmar would be safer for sure, and I could personally make sure he was being watched out for, but that’s not such a hot option either.  Considering his most recent associations with the orcs, I’m thinking he’s not going to get comfy living in an orc city anytime soon.  And I mean, yeah, sure, I’m all about the orc pride, but not even I would expect him to be able to swallow, basically, “So, yeah, about all that shit we did?  We were kind of going through a thing.  We’re a lot cooler now, really.”

So, I finally came up with the best of a field of less-than-ideal options.

This morning, I picked up Faranell and Liadrin in Brill, and made the trip east to Hearthglen.

Between a good word from Eitrigg, and some paladin-speak from Liadrin, Tirion agreed to bring Faranell into the fold and help keep an eye on him early on.  We’ve given Tirion the rundown on Faranell’s story – I swear, the part where I was explaining how future-Faranell rigged things might have been the only time I’ve ever seen Tirion go speechless – so he knows what’s going on and what’s at stake.  Tirion and his Argent Crusade people still have plenty of work to do cleaning up the Plaguelands, so he’ll be able to put our boy to work helping with that.  More importantly, Hearthglen is mostly a human town, he has family there, and it’s a pretty insular community, which should limit a lot of potential problems.

I had a short meeting with Tirion when we brought Faranell up there.  He’s agreed to watch over him and keep us updated if he runs into any major wrinkles.  Eventually, once Voice From the Past gets settled, we can see about taking him around a little so he can see more of the world as it is now.  But that won’t come until he’s ready.

While I was there, I also had to give Tirion a little shit about his kid making life more difficult for us while we were in the past.  Once we were finished talking about Faranell and I was getting ready to go, I was like, “Oh, by the way, your kid is a dickwad.”  Tirion just kind of looked at me a minute, and then he pointed out that his son died a few years ago, killed by Isilien, in fact, after the kid came to his senses about the Scarlet Crusade.  So I took that in for a minute, and then I corrected myself: “Your kid WAS a dickwad.”  Fucking nit-picking Tirion.

I can’t really complain, though, since for once he didn’t seem all that ramped up to talk my ear off.  Part of it was just the shock of hearing Faranell’s whole story and trying to absorb it, I’m sure, and part of it was the fact that we had business to go over that involved him getting information from us more than vice versa.  Plus I think he had a meeting with Bolvar or something later today, so for once he was able to go about his business like people actually have things to do with their time.

Anyway, that’s done.  I’m back in Orgrimmar now, and Faranell’s off in Hearthglen getting settled in.  Hopefully he’ll be okay once he gets adjusted.  In a way, you kind of have to be jealous of him – I mean, how many people basically get to skip over the part of their lives that sucks?  At this point, like our old Faranell said himself, the future is wide open for him.

Good luck, Edwin.

 

[Header image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate, used here with permission and many thanks.]

Where did all the words go?

Posted in Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 11, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

We arrived in Hearthglen this morning and were ushered up to meet with Tirion Fordring in Mardenholde Keep, which as I’m sure you can imagine was an exercise in joy for me.  Luckily I at least managed to come prepared this time, with company and an exit strategy.  Part of the company, by the way, being Mokvar, so if you’ve been reading the blog for any length of time, you know what’s coming up…

 

Garrosh, Mokvar, and Master Apothecary Faranell are escorted into the Highlord’s command room by the night elf Daria L’Rayne.

DARIA:  Highlord Fordring, the Horde delegation has arrived to see you.

TIRION:  So I see, so I see indeed, good Daria, and great thanks to you for so kindly seeing them in.  Truly is it by the aid of such as yourself that great alliances are forged, and great deeds are brought to fruition!

DARIA:  Okay…yes, sir.  Thank you…I think.

TIRION:  And rightly do you think!  As right and just are the thoughts of all those gathered here under the banner of peace, in this hopeful age ushered forth in the wake of the Lich King’s demise!  For surely what challenge might not we surmount, having proven in the icy wastes that we can come together before a common foe, and unite in our resolve to forge a brighter world!  None indeed!  Would you not agree, noble elf?

DARIA:  Um…so, you have visitors, sir.

GARROSH:  Sup, Tirion.

DARIA:  Good luck, Warchief.

Daria makes a very, very speedy exit from the chamber.

TIRION:  Warchief Hellscream!

GARROSH:  Here we go.

TIRION:  A pleasure it is to see you once again, old friend!  Too many winters have passed since last we spoke face to face, since those noble days in Icecrown when we stood together against the Scourge, and oversaw the fall of Arthas and the delivery of justice upon the hated Lich King!  Human and orc united in unwavering defense of home and hearth, brought together in a far-off land to lay waste to an odious common foe – what valiant days those were!  Ones which, I see, have served not only as testament to your courage, but as proof positive to your people of your leadership, a validation of your rightful rise within the ranks of the Horde, which I see has brought you in the intervening time to the highest of stations, Warchief of your people, as great a tribute as your comrade Thrall might verily bestow.

FARANELL:  So, in other words, hello.

GARROSH:  Yeah.  Hey.

MOKVAR:  Afternoon, Highlord.

TIRION:  And I see, good Warchief, you have deemed fit to bring noble counsel with you for your visit – no doubt picked from the most esteemed of your sage advisors.  And moreover, I see, spanning even beyond your own kin into the ranks of the Forsaken, whom – I will assure you, assure you most firmly indeed – shall find no animosity within these walls.  For regardless of the fervor of our struggle to subdue the spiteful reach of the Lich King’s hated Scourge, far be it from me to presume ill intent from those whose only crime is to have fallen victim to the Scourge’s curse of undeath, for well I know, your will restored under the care of your Banshee Queen, your capacity for heroism knows no more bounds than any in our world, as proven by those Forsaken who fought and, yea, fell beside me in the battlefields of Northrend.  For just as fate has shown that humans may prove as vile as the blackest Scourge, just so might orc or undead prove more noble than any king, most revered!  And so it is with an open hand and generous heart I greet you, good sir.

MOKVAR:  Wow, really?

GARROSH:  I told you.

FARANELL:  So, in other words, also hello.

TIRION:  And might I ask, my Forsaken friend, whom have I the pleasure to meet this good day?  The beginning of a great friendship, forged in amity and fellowship, no doubt.  Lend me your hand, good sir, that we might pledge unto each other’s goodly aid.

Tirion grabs Faranell’s hand and starts to shake it just a bit too enthusiastically.

FARANELL:  Um…you know what?  It’s okay, I’m just some guy.  No need to trouble yourself.

GARROSH:  Ohhhhhhh no, you don’t get off that easy, Skin’n’Bones.

FARANELL:  Crap.

GARROSH:  So yeah, Tirion, this is Master Apothecary Faranell, head of Sylvanas’ Royal Apothecary Society.  And I think you’ve met Mokvar?

TIRION:  Indeed, indeed, I remember him well, and good day to you, noble Mokvar.  Though I will confess, remember you well though I do, fondly and with reverence, it saddens me that I cannot yet lay claim to knowing you so half as well as I might wish.  A regrettable condition I am sure our efforts here today shall surely change, and lay the foundation of a friendship – nay, a kinship, for we who strive together for the good of Azeroth, I dare suggest, are nothing if not kin, a family brought together by devotion to all we mutually hold dear – that time and trial shall validate as stuff of legend.

FARANELL:  So, in other words, yes.

GARROSH:  Right, okay.  So what I wanted to—

TIRION:  And so, good Mokvar, I welcome you with open arms to Hearthglen, and look forward to the progress of our blossoming acquaintance.  Though I will confess, great Warchief, it does bring a faint sadness to see you have chosen not to bring the noble Eitrigg with you today, as far too many a year have passed since I’ve cast eyes upon my orcish friend, to whom, I’m sure you are aware, I owe a debt of honor.  It was Eitrigg, after all – I shall take a moment to clarify for the sake of your colleagues here who may not know the tale, I am sure you shall not begrudge a momentary digression—

GARROSH:  What the hell, at this point.

TIRION:  —whom I encountered an age ago in the northern reaches of old Lordaeron, dwelling in an abandoned tower.  Unaware as yet of the nobility of your eventual lieutenant, and predisposed – misguided – ill toward any of orcish kind, I engaged Eitrigg in battle, a furious melee joined between two worthy combatants, in which neither would give quarter nor long hold the upper hand.  Truly our contest was one for the bards, as we traded blow upon blow, gaining and ceding ground, victory dangling precariously just beyond the grasp of us both.

FARANELL:  Huh.  Were you killed?

GARROSH:  <chortle>

TIRION:  Fitting you should ask, good Faranell, for though I suspect a jesting tone, your words recall a harrowing turn in the battle in question!  For deep into our duel – and long indeed did we take arms, so long into the night! – the aging tower that formed our battlefield, weakened and cracked in the wake of our combat, began to crumble, and a heap of stone and mortar, breaking forth, came crashing down upon me.  Consciousness abandoned me as I fell beneath the rubble, broken and bleeding, left to the mercy of my adversary, and further: injured enough that, lacking prompt medical aid, no adversary would be needed to bring my life to end.  Hours passed, and in time I awoke to find myself in my own familiar bed—

FARANELL:  Oh, so it was a dream?

TIRION:  A dream, my good fellow?  Perhaps!  Perhaps indeed the realization of one—the dream of orc and human fellowship, which the truth of the tale would prove!  The birth of the greater dream of encompassing peace and camaraderie between our peoples which even yet eludes our hopeful grasp!  Truly state, truly stated, my friend; you have, I think, anticipated the epiphany that would light upon my bedridden thoughts!

FARANELL:  Actually, what I meant—

GARROSH:  Dude, just let it slide.  Tick tock.

FARANELL:  Ah.  Yeah.

TIRION:  For once consciousness had returned to me, and friend and family came to check upon my health, I learned from them the circumstances of my discovery: some days prior, they had found me, wounded and unconscious, tied to my loyal steed and sent trotting back toward home.  Only one explanation would make sense: that the orc whom I had presumed an agent of evil had, in fact, saved me from a solitary death, and taken pains to return me in my need to friendly hands.  Later would I seek out the orc – the sage and noble Eitrigg – and thus began the friendship that would span so many years.  And yet, far too many of those years have slipped away like sand through our oblivious fingers since I have had the pleasure of seeing my dear friend face to face.  And so, good Warchief, while I have no doubt your reasons were wise, it saddens me indeed that you have opted not to bring him here today.  Upon your return to Orgrimmar, then, I would entreat – nay, implore! you pass my greetings and highest blessings to your dear advisor, and endeavor to ensure he know, though separated by days and distance, the thoughts of Tirion Fordring are with him, as are the shining memories of our kinship, which even now live on in my heart as though mere moments old.

FARANELL:  So, in other words, say hi to Eitrigg.

MOKVAR:  Check.

GARROSH:  Okay, yeah, I’ll do that.  So anyway, Tirion…

TIRION:  Indeed, gentlemen, indeed, I know you’ve business to attend here in New Hearthglen.  Shall we take our seats and begin our discussions?

GARROSH:  Yeah, I think I’m going to need to sit down before too long here.

Tirion – still talking – leads them over to the nearby conference table.

TIRION:  Indeed, indeed, then certainly, my good fellows, make your way thusly, and relieve your weary feet presently.  I will apologize for the rudimentary caliber of my furnishings here: surely not the quality and comfort one of high station might come to expect in diplomatic parlay—

GARROSH:  No, it’s—

TIRION:  —but  these chairs were gifted to me by the workmen of the nearby lumber mill, and product of their very labor, crafted with painstaking care albeit limited material for embellishment, and so a certain humble pride compels me to retain them, even realizing that there are far beneath the standard of luxury as might befit ambassadors and heads of state.

GARROSH:  Dude, seriously, it’s cool.  I grew up in a hut made of sticks and fucking mud, believe me, I’m okay with B-grade fucking chairs.

FARANELL:  My skin is tattered and falling off around every joint in my body.  A lack of seat cushions is way, way down on my list of discomforts.

TIRION:  Now, good gentlemen, as we are now more properly seated, what boon may I grant to you on this fine day?  Know, surely, that the hand of Tirion Fordring stands ever ready to lend its aid—

GARROSH:  Much appreciated, Tirion.  So—

TIRION:  —for surely, just as our glorious victory in Northrend could never have come to fruition without the united efforts of Horde and Alliance, Argent Dawn and Silver Hand, Ebon Blade, and more—

GARROSH:  Ah.  You weren’t done.

TIRION:  —just so, I know full well, might enterprises of great pitch and moment, upon which might hang the very future of our kind, just so might these endeavors languish fruitless save for the will of good men such as ourselves, to stand together despite those petty differences that might divide us.

GARROSH:  Um, yeah.  Cool.

TIRION:  And so, gentlemen, how might I be of aid?

Garrosh, Mokvar, and Faranell sit quietly a moment, watching Tirion.

GARROSH:  That was it, right?

TIRION:  You confuse me, Warchief Hellscream.  That was what, exactly?

MOKVAR:  Just go.

GARROSH:  Yeah, never mind, not important.  So here’s the thing.

FARANELL:  Don’t pause too much between sentences.

GARROSH:  We’ve got a situation down in Southshore.  Somehow or other the Forsaken there managed to set off some kind of magical effect that’s neutralizing their undeath and killing them all.

FARANELL:  It seems to be functioning, basically, as a reversal of the plague of undeath, and dissipating the necrotic effects that reanimated my people.

GARROSH:  It’s more or less contained right now, but it’s going to spread, so we’re trying to find out exactly what it is and how it got there, and since we’ve heard that some of your Silver Hand people were down there at one point and you’ve always had an interest in the Scourge, we were thinking you might be able to fill in some blanks.

TIRION:  Ah, interesting, interesting.  I do recall a time when I did journey to the scenic port of Southshore, in answer to a summons from Highlord Alexandros Mograine to confer, indeed, upon the emergence of the Scourge.  Even then, Mograine knew the threat the undead – forgive me, friend Faranell, I mean, of course, to say the Scourge – would pose to this world, even though in those days, unbeknownst to us all, their true menace was truly in its infancy.  You see, these were the days before the fall of Arthas and of Lordaeron—

GARROSH:  Right, we know.

TIRION: —when the Scourge, then commanded by the nefarious orc warlock Ner’zhul, was merely a pawn of the dreaded Burning Legion.  The legion, you see, led by the monstrous Kil’jaeden, had decided that their prior attempts to invade Azeroth had been doomed by the infighting and divisiveness within their orcish armies.  Folly indeed, as I am sure you will agree, to suppose that their failure rested in the orcs, when rather they were doomed from the outset to fall to the courageous defense put forth by the steadfast people of our world!

Garrosh shrugs and opens a backpack, which he had set down on the table.

Nevertheless, the Legion under Kil’jaeden’s vile judgment took upon themselves to build a new fighting force, one united by a single mind, and so the warlock Ner’zhul was remade as the odious Lich King and cast, trapped in an icy block, into our world, in the icy wastes of Northrend.  There he began to build his forces, slaying all within his reach and raising them as mindless undead, bound only to his will.  Gradually he built his forces and would send them forth to wreak havoc in the Eastern Kingdoms.  But even in those early days, while the undead legions were still only beginning to stir and their hateful sweep through Northrend was merely the start of their rise—

Garrosh removes several wrapped sandwiches from the pack and begins handing them out.

GARROSH:  You wanted the pastrami, right?

MOKVAR:  Yeah, please.

TIRION:  —even then, noble Alexandros had the vision and foresight to perceive the threat they would soon pose to our world.  Though I wonder at times if truly he could have anticipated that which they would become, the true extent of their evil, let loose over time when the scheming mind of the Lich King would turn upon its masters and break away, freeing the Scourge from its demonic shackles such that it might stand alone in its pernicious pursuit of dominion over the world of the living.  Indeed, how could he?  Who, in their worst imaginings, would dream of what would befall Lordaeron?  What mind could in its darkest hours imagine that the very king’s blessed son would fall to darkness and turn upon all those whom once he loved, slay his own father, and forego his presumptive kingship with another, darker one, one which would bring him to the Frozen Throne in Ner’zhul’s stead?

Meanwhile, Garrosh et al are eating.

FARANELL:  Did you bring any mustard?

GARROSH:  Yeah, you need spicy brown or yellow?

FARANELL:  Spicy.

GARROSH:  Here you go.

FARANELL:  Thanks.

TIRION:  Nevertheless, Alexandros rightly foresaw the threat the Scourge would pose to our world, and called upon we Knights of the Silver Hand to gather in secret in the town of Southshore in order that we might lay plans to defend our homelands.  I journeyed to Hillsbrad with two of my closest allies – Brigitte Abbendis, daughter of the High General, and Isilien, both of whom, sadly, would one day turn their backs upon our cause in order, like my own son Talaen, to embrace the madness of the Scarlett Crusade.  Alas, it seems that madness would consume many in the aftermath of the Scourge’s invasion, and the outbreak of the plague that would leave a kingdom in ruin.  Even my dear uncle Lucius, a longtime resident of the rural outskirts of old Andorhal, would find his grip on reality slipping in his later years, admittedly by no connection to the Scourge invasion – so far as we know.  But indeed, in his later days he found himself immured in the fantasy that he was, in fact, the late Llane Wrynn – hardly late in his eyes, of course – the dear fallen king of Stormwind, and father of its current ruler, King Varian.  His wife my aunt and several of my cousins would attempt to appeal to whatever reason might still have lingered beneath the delusions, but to no avail: the dementia had taken hold far too deeply, and Uncle Lucius would spend his days allowing his delusion to lead him off on one misadventure after another, until he finally settled into the final stage of his madness, sparked by blue paint and a spatula.  But I fear I digress, gentlemen, and far be it from me to waste all of our precious time on capricious reminiscence.

Everyone continues eating as a moment of silence passes.

GARROSH:  <looking up, surprised>  Oh.  You were done?

TIRION:  <blinks, surprised>  Warchief Hellscream?

GARROSH:  Um, yeah, okay, I guess I must have zoned out there for a minute.

FARANELL:  I think there was something in there about a meeting in Southshore.

MOKVAR:  <skimming back over notes>  Yeah, I have him down for a meeting about ten years ago, with Alexandros Mograine, Isilien, and Abbendis.

GARROSH:  Man, you really are committed to the job, Mokvar.  Props.

MOKVAR:  Eh, beats being unemployed.

GARROSH:  Okay, so for one thing, was that it for that meeting, or were there any other people there that we should know about?

TIRION:  Those were the principals from my perspective, Warchief; Alexandros having called the meeting, and Isilien and Abbendis having accompanied me in my journey to Southshore.  If memory serves, the Highlord’s lieutenants Fairbanks and Arcanist Doan were present as well.

FARANELL:  Whew.  Things didn’t exactly end well for a single one of those people.  Not liking your odds there, Tirion.

GARROSH:  So what was the meeting about?

TIRION:  As I had begun to say a moment ago, Warchief Hellscream, the meeting was born of Highlord Mograine’s wise anticipation of the threat the rising Scourge might pose to our world; he called us together to begin to make preparations to defend our homelands against the inevitable assault of the undead.

FARANELL:  What kind of preparations?

TIRION:  To gather our forces; to train in earnest in anticipation of the battle to come; to ready friends, family, and rulers alike for the possibilities of what awaited us.  A forthright effort to increase our awareness, mainly, and to dispel whatever complacency might dull our eventual readiness…  As well as…well, there was one further outcome…

GARROSH:  Which…would be?

TIRION:  <pauses>  At the time we all were sworn never again to speak of it.  But that, I suppose, was a long time ago, and much has changed since then…

GARROSH:  Huh, that must have been rough.

TIRION:  Begging your pardon, Warchief?

GARROSH:  I’m just trying to imagine you sworn not to talk about something.

MOKVAR:  <mutters, chuckling>  That one’s…getting…the nice printing…

TIRION:  I suppose the time has passed for this one secret, at least.  Alexandros…also showed us an item he had held in secret for a decade by that time.  A dark crystal, black as the void, a focus of hideous, destructive power…a living embodiment of shadows.  Alexandros believed that the existence of such an object, a manifestation of darkness, implied the possibility of its opposite: a manifestation of light, which he believed might prove the ultimate weapon against the undead.  He was soon proven right, though not in the manner he would have supposed…

FARANELL:  Starting to tick a few boxes here…

GARROSH:  So what does that mean?  Did you guys find the matching light crystal or something?

TIRION:  No, Warchief Hellscream.  We did not find it.  Without even setting out to, and very much to our surprise, we created it.

FARANELL:  I think I see where this is going…

TIRION:  Some of our group doubted Alexandros’ faith in the crystal’s importance, and attempted to destroy it through the powers of the light.  The crystal, however, merely absorbed whatever holy magic was cast upon it – spell after spell, we poured our power into it, until the dark crystal transformed into its own radiant counterpart.

GARROSH:  Oh shit.

FARANELL:  Where did the dark crystal come from in the first place?

TIRION:  From Outland, originally…

MOKVAR:  Please don’t tell me you got it from the arakkoa…

GARROSH:  Huh?

FARANELL:  The what?

TIRION:  We never learned where in Draenor the crystal had originated.  We only knew it was carried by an orcish warlock, a lieutenant to Orgrim Doomhammer, during the assault on Blackrock Spire during the Second War.  Alexandros took the crystal from the fallen orc’s body and kept it hidden.

GARROSH:  So what happened to it?  Did you end up using it for some kind of weapon?

Tirion brandishes the Ashbringer and stares at it a moment.

TIRION:  Aye.

GARROSH:  Oh shit again.

FARANELL:  Um, I’m going to step back a little, if it’s all the same to you guys.

GARROSH:  So that’s what you were doing in Southshore?  Forging the Ashbringer?

TIRION:  No, Warchief, the blade was not forged that day.  Our meeting in Southshore merely laid the groundwork.  It was only some time later that Alexandros and Fairbanks brought the crystal to Ironforge, where King Magni Bronzebeard himself forged the sword.

GARROSH:  And in between, what happened to the crystal?  You kept it under lock and key, or hid it somewhere, or what?

TIRION:  The crystal remained in Alexandros’ possession until he decided the time was right for the Ashbringer to be made.  From that day in Southshore, its locked chest was ever in his keep.

FARANELL:  And that was it?  The dark crystal was converted to light, you sealed it up, and Mograine held onto it until Ironforge?

TIRION:  Indeed, my friend.

FARANELL:  Hmm…that leaves us without a lot to go on, unless the sword itself was unaccounted for at some point.

TIRION:  <shakes head>  Nay, the Ashbringer’s succession is known, and before its forging the crystal was indeed never… Wait…

GARROSH:  Uh oh, here it comes.

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

TIRION:  Now that I set my thoughts to it… I do recall, just after the crystal’s transformation, Isilien and Doan both grew intrigued by the object, an intellectual curiosity, it struck me, as to the crystal’s nature.  I believe Alexandros granted them some leave to examine it while at the inn, though I’m certain he would never have allowed it to leave the premises.

GARROSH:  Okay, so in that case we just have to track down Isilien and Doan—

MOKVAR:  Dead.

FARANELL:  And dead.

GARROSH:  —and of course they’re both dead, because nothing is ever fucking easy.

TIRION:  And as for the integrity of the Ashbringer’s line, I can assure you it has never fallen into the wrong hands – or rather, hands who might have used it for such purposes as concern you here.  For most of its existence, the Ashbringer was carried by Alexandros himself – indeed, he came to be known as the Ashbringer – as he waged battle gloriously against the Scourge in its early days.  Even after the dreadlord Balnazzar corrupted Alexandros’ own son Renault, driving the lad to slay his own father, the blade would soon be restored to its original bearer, as the lich Kel’Thuzad would soon after raise Alexandros’ to undeath as a death knight of the Lich King – a truly horrid end for one such as Mograine, a mockery of all he had fought for in life…

MOKVAR:  So, we good here?

TIRION:  …The blade itself recoiled against the treachery of Renault, and became twisted into a corrupted form, one in which it would remain for years hence.  During that time, as you may well have heard – and indeed, I can attest, the whispers speak truly – the corrupted blade remained in Alexandros’ risen hands, as he served the Lich King in Naxxramas, leader of the Four Horsemen.

GARROSH:  Yeah, I think so.

FARANELL:  I don’t think he’s going to have anything else for us.

TIRION:  It was in that time, however, that Mograine’s younger son, Darion, unable to bear the knowledge of what had become of his father, unwilling to see so great a man’s legacy besmirched by his actions in death, gathered a party from among the Argent Dawn and led a mission into the dread necropolis.  Therein, reluctantly, the son slew the father, and thereby laid his father’s weary spirit to rest – but at a terrible, terrible price.

GARROSH:  Okay.  Cue Operation Bait-n-Switch.

TIRION:  Darion, indeed, would take up the blade – as well as his father’s place in servitude to Arthas.  He would carry the Ashbringer in its corrupted form until passing it to me during the great Battle of Light’s Hope.  I am, of course, simplifying the tale in the interests of time; you will, I hope, forgive my occasional reductive glossings…

Garrosh and Faranell start to gather their belongings while Mokvar walks over to the doorway.

MOKVAR:  Sergeant Pain and Scout Suffering, you’re up!

TIRION:  While I commend you gentlemen for your impulse toward cleanliness, I assure you, there’s hardly a need to take pains gathering your belongings at this early juncture.  I’m sure our discussions will allow ample time for a less rushed approach to…

Dontrag and Utvoch enter.

GARROSH:  Okay, so, Tirion, quick introductions.

TIRION:  Ah, I see you have summoned further aides to supplement our discussions – I must commend you, Warchief Hellscream, on your insistence on thoroughness in these deliberations.  Though, again, I note that I find myself again presented with two additional members of your kin who are, regrettably, not Eitrigg…but I am sure these fine gentlemen will prove invaluable to our efforts.

FARANELL:  In a manner of speaking.

DONTRAG:  Greeting, Warchief.

UTVOCH:  Good day to you, sir!

GARROSH:  Sup guys.  So anyway, yeah, Tirion, this is Scout Utvoch, and the spikey-haired dude is Sergeant Dontrag.

UTVOCH:  Um, actually, sir, I’m Utvoch.

GARROSH:  Isn’t that what I just said?

DONTRAG:  No sir.  You said I was Utvoch.

GARROSH:  I did?

UTVOCH:  Yes, sir.  You said Dontrag was the spikey-haired one, and that’s me, when Dontrag is actually the one who’s bald, mostly.

DONTRAG:  Bad genes, sir.

UTVOCH:  At least you stopped trying to do the comb-over.

DONTRAG:  Well you could have told me how ridiculous it looked.

UTVOCH:  Huh?  I did, like a dozen times.

TIRION:  Ah, I recall having that very discussion with Doan on more than one occasion.

DONTRAG:  Yeah, that year in the Barrens wasn’t really a pretty time for me.

GARROSH:  So yeah, anyway, you two, this is Tirion Fordring.

TIRION:  A great honor to make your acquaintance, good sirs.

DONTRAG:  Hey.

UTVOCH:  So wait, weren’t you killed in Northrend?

DONTRAG:  How could he have been killed, he’s right here.

TIRION:  <chuckles>  No, no, my friend, though I will admit a harrowing time or two, I can assure you I returned from the frozen north very much alive.

UTVOCH:  How come I thought they said some Fordring died up there?

DONTRAG:  Maybe it’s another Fordring?

UTVOCH:  Did you have a cousin up there too?

DONTRAG:  Or maybe like one of his kids or something?

UTVOCH:  Oh crap, did you have a kid get killed?  I’m sorry I brought it up then.

DONTRAG:  I think you’re right, though, I remember hearing about a Ford-something dying up there too.

GARROSH:  Um, are you guys thinking of Fordragon?

DONTRAG:  Yeah, actually, it might be.

UTVOCH:  I think so, yeah, one or the other.

DONTRAG:  Definitely some kind of name like that.

UTVOCH:  So yeah, was it Fordring or Fordragon that got killed in Northrend?

TIRION:  Actually neith—erm, that is…Fordragon.  Yes.  It’s Bolvar Fordragon that you’re thinking of.  Who died.  In Northrend.  That’s what you were thinking of.

UTVOCH:  Oh okay.

DONTRAG:  Was he a friend of yours?

UTVOCH:  Oh yeah, because if their names sound alike I guess that means they must know each other because that’s how things work, right?

DONTRAG:  Oh shut up, stupid.

UTVOCH:  You shut up.

TIRION:  Actually I did know him quite well; Bolvar and I were friends of many years, like brothers, in fact…

UTVOCH:  Oh man, I guess things DO work like that, I’ll be damned.  That’s messed up.

DONTRAG:  I’m sorry your friend died then, sir.

TIRION:  As am I, my good orc.  But I am, alas, no stranger to tragedy.  Why I was just moments ago relating to your comrades here the doleful tale of my dear Uncle Lucius, who dwelled for many years near Andorhal before madness touched him and he grew obsessed with the delusion that he was, in fact, King Llane.

Garrosh, Mokvar, and Faranell exchange glances and nods.

UTVOCH:  Good thing he never met Garona, that might have been weird.

TIRION:  His life from that point on was weird enough, I assure you, between his endless wanderings, parcheesi board ever in hand, and his final preoccupation racing through Tirisfal, chasing bats with a spatula.

DONTRAG:  Well, at least bats make sort of decent eating, if you use the right breading…

TIRION:  A delicacy I cannot claim to have the pleasure of sampling, though I have no doubt the proper hands could produce culinary marvels.  But no, dear Uncle Lucius’ tastes were far more mundane, as he was perfectly content to treat each meal as a simple breakfast of bacon and toast – provided he could acquire a suitable marmalade to accompany it, as he was something of stickler in such matters.  Raspberry ideally…

GARROSH:  Aight, T-Ford, Imma bounce.  Peace!

DONTRAG:  So what’s the difference between marmalade and jam, anyway?

TIRION:  Curious you should ask, as there is, as it happens, an interesting tale behind the distinction…

Garrosh, Mokvar, and Faranell make a hasty exit through the doorway.

 

Also, note to Eitrigg:  Dude, was he always like this?  How the fuck could you stand it?  Fucking hell, I wasn’t even there for that long and I already feel like I need a day off.

 

“Daria’s Pro Tip for Dealing with Tirion #11: If he asks you if you want to hear a story, say yes. He’s going to tell you either way, but if you say no, he’ll just take longer getting to it. Think of it as steering into the skid, only with the skid being a tedious barrage of words.”

Spare the rod, spoil the Helcular

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 10, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So Helcular wasn’t exactly the most help in the world.  I’m not sure if he’s just been sort of batshit ever since he was raised as undead from the Southshore graveyard a few years back, or if he was always kind of unstable, or what, but dude could not stay on topic for all his flipping out and panicking about what had happened down at the ruins.  To be fair, I suppose being at ground zero of some freakish anti-necromantic explosion that took out most of your team, and just barely escaping from having the unlife sucked clean out of you yourself, well, I guess I can see how that might freak you out.  And Helcular being a mage, and kind of a bookish one at that, I can see how he might not exactly be the battle-tested kind of guy who deals with adversity well.

But DUDE, I can’t POSSIBLY overstate how much he was spazzing out over everything.  Could not keep him on topic for more than thirty seconds at a time, so I spent practically the whole conversation having to slap him around to try to get him back on track.  Now granted, I probably didn’t help matters when Kaal arrived with an update from Southshore, and I let him give his report in front of Helcular.  Turns out, those shimmery purple lines are still expanding outward – slowly enough that you can’t notice it with the naked eye, but still moving and stretching little by little, apparently gravitating toward other centers of necromantic energy.  As in, places where there are lots of undead.  So eventually – slowly, but eventually – this thing is going to spread.

Which as you can imagine, is just what panicky jittery Captain Freak-Out Hercular needed to hear, and yeah, a few more beatings ensued to get him to stop fluttering about.  Eventually, after enough enforced focus to make my frigging hands sore, I was able to drag this much out of him: Helcular used to live in Southshore, where he knew Kel’Thuzad back in his pre-lich days, and had studied necromancy under him.  Because nothing could go wrong there, as we all know.  But he couldn’t think of anything they could have done that could have had a hand in what’s happened – the training and practice he did in the vicinity of the town was all small-potatoes stuff, and from what he could remember, Kel’Thuzad kept his distance whenever he was doing anything major.  He did remember one point some years back, though, when a bunch of people from the Knights of the Silver Hand were hanging around the town.  They were being pretty hush-hush, but were still attracting enough attention that he could remember strangers turning up in the town and lurking around snooping on them…so there’s a fair chance they were up to something.  And considering how those paladins wound up taking an interest in the Scourge, it sounds like there’s at least enough of a possible link to be worth following up on.

And again, let me just stress that pretty much every sentence of that was spread out over two of three smackings and a frustrated “Man, will you PLEASE try to pull yourself the fuck TOGETHER?”

Anyway, though, we’ve got another lead to follow, even though I’m not exactly thrilled where it’s leading.  But, I’ve already had Eitrigg send a message up to Hearthglen in the Western Plaguelands, and I’m getting ready to head north.  Not going to lie to you, I’m not looking forward to this at all, but it’s our best in with the Silver Hand, so I guess I’m going to need to go have a sit-down with Tirion Fordring.