Archive for kel’thuzad

Set us up the bomb

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 3, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So the good news is that we’re about to head home, and not a moment too soon.  The bad news is we’re not all coming back on our feet.

Let me back up.

Like I said at the end of the last post, I could hear a commotion next door, so I went over to check on what was going on.  Mokvar and Utvoch were in a low-grade panic.  Liadrin had just joined them and was trying to calm them down, but she was pretty obviously worried too.  Here’s the bottom line – at some point in the last hour or so, Mokvar found a note from Faranell slipped under the door:

Just came from talking to KT.  Tried to play dumb about Doan et al, but he still seems suspicious.  Too much at stake to leave to chance.  Keeping shard with me for safekeeping and taking steps.  Luck to all.  –EF

I’d put Edwin in charge of holding the chameleon shard since we got it back, seeing as he was our main magic guy and a lot less likely to utvoch things up.  I wasn’t expecting him to go all loose cannon on us, but I guess we weren’t there to hear what KT was going on about.  Faranell must have figured he had to act fast.

In any case, that meant we had to get on the move pronto too.  I had us split up – Mokvar and Liadrin searching in and around the inn, Utvoch getting our crap packed up in case we need to make a quick exit.  As for me, I headed out to make a sweep around the rest of the town.

I ran out of the inn in a rush, and damn near broke my neck tripping over – of all things – a random sheep that was wandering around in the road right outside.  Because on top of everything else I love about humans, they’re also frigging spectacular at keeping their damn livestock under control.  I would have had half a mind to herd the little fucker into the inn just to freak Kelly out a little more, if I hadn’t been in such a hurry.

Anyway, after I finished my involuntary sheep-induced forward somersault, I made a quick lap around town.  By this point, the Silver Hand people had already left Southshore – Tirion, predictably enough, being the last one to go, since he just couldn’t drag himself away before he’d yapped Kelly’s ear off one last time – and as I made my pat around, I spotted Kel’Thuzad lurking around on horseback near the edge of the woods to the north.  Looked like he was just watching the road out of town…maybe looking to see if the Silver Hands were leaving, maybe on his way out himself…who knows.  From what I could make out, he looked to be in a pretty sour mood, but then again, he’s Kel’Thuzad, so not exactly stop-the-presses news there.  I finished circling the town – no sign of Faranell.  I ran back to the inn to check on things.

Mokvar was waiting for me when I came back inside.  He looked worried as hell, and all he said before rushing off to the back of the inn was to follow him and hurry.  Always a good sign, right?  We ran past the bar into the kitchen, and the thought had just crossed my mind that you wouldn’t think Kelly would let us just have the run of the place like this, when I noticed a frog hopping around on the counter.  In times of crisis, Mokvar strikes.

Mokvar led the way into the kitchen, then to the stairs leading down to the cellar.  Jessen the cook was there, and started making a stink of “what are you people doing” and “what’s the meaning of this” and blah blah blah, and you know what?  Fuck it.  Page out of the Thrall playbook: Hey, Jessen, what did the five fingers say to the face?  SLAP, drop, that’s enough out of him.  Moving on.

Liadrin was downstairs.  She was kneeling over Faranell – who was sprawled out on the floor unconscious.  She’d found him there a short time before, out cold, the chameleon shard on the ground by his hand, charged and attuned.  Nearby, along the wall, a few large stone blocks had been pried out of place, and the a-p bomb thingy was lodged into the opening, pressed up into the exposed earth.  Humming away with a dull yellow glow.

Damn stupid Faranell must have thought Kel’Thuzad was on the move and rushed down here to get read on the bomb before KT had a chance to screw with it, even knowing the damn thing was charged and primed to put him on his ass if he got close to it.  Not to mention the fact that the shard takes a few minutes to attune itself – so the dude had to have stood there, eating the burn and hanging on somehow, just to make sure the mission got done.  I’ve got to give these Forsaken credit.  They may be missing some internal organs, but they sure as hell aren’t short on guts.

At this point, we’ve gotten what we came for, and with Faranell down for spirits-knows how long, I’m not inclined to hang around waiting for something ELSE to go wrong.  We’re getting out of Southshore and making a bee line for our rendezvous point with Nozdormu’s boy Erozion so he can get us back home.

Liadrin and Mokvar have both tossed a few heals on Edwin to keep him stable for the trip, but they’re reluctant to do too much right now without knowing just how he’s been affected.  Once we get back to our own time, we can get him patched up.  I hope.

We’re about to head out now.  Everything’s packed, Utvoch is set to carry our out-cold zombie friend for the trip, and we’ve covered our tracks at the inn as best we could.  The next time I write here, it’ll be from the future.  I mean the present.  Whatever.  FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.

Fingers crossed.  I’ll see you in ten years.

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Good news, everyone

Posted in General, Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 1, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

We’re in business.  Things are in motion, and one way or another, either we pull this off pretty soon, or we’re going home to some big problems.

After we did the ol’ switcheroo with Faranell – I guess I should start getting into the habit of calling him Edwin, but it just feels weird – I tried to keep an eye out for Tirion’s kid, but no luck there.  Since Mokvar wasn’t going to be coming to the meeting with Isilien and Doan, I put him on lookout, with some help from Utvoch…that is, lookout help that still keeps him out of a position where he could really fuck something up, because seriously, enough is enough with that shit.

Faranell stepped out for a little while this afternoon to go see Kel’Thuzad – KT on his own this time, without Helcular in tow.  He came back with some less-than-great news: KT has been noticing the Silver Hand people hanging around town, and is starting to wonder what they’re up to.  Considering KT’s interest in necromancy, you can see how a bunch of paladins might perk him up some, especially with rumors flying around about the undead.  If only he knew, right?  Well, that’s sort of the point – I mean, things going on that KT doesn’t know.  He basically was trying to find out if Edwin knows anything, especially considering his brother’s been spending some time up close and personal with the paladins.  Edwin downplayed knowing anything, but Kel’Thuzad pressed him to keep an eye out and see if he could find anything out from his brother.

Besides the fact that this gives us one more wrinkle to worry about – which we’re going to have to keep worrying about until the Silver Hands get out of town so KT won’t have them putting ideas in his head – it’s also bringing us back to the problem Faranell’s brought up already: the fact that he doesn’t remember this business with Kel’Thuzad at all.  I was already kind of worried about the whole time-distortion thing with Mokvar’s plan to hex Faranell v1.0 – I mean, how is our Faranell supposed to remember what originally happened here, when we take his past self out of commission so he won’t have lived those events to remember them, right?  And plus, wouldn’t he at least remember, you know, being turned into a damn frog?  But Liadrin insisted that it should work what with the way revised time works, with ripples from the changes not reaching out to us until the events play themselves out, or some kind of shit like that, and she seems to know what she’s talking about with this time crap, which she actually seems really interested for who knows what reason, so whatever, I figured I’d trust her on that much.  But now we seem to be getting more and more little pieces not meshing with the way Edwin remembers things, and that’s got me majorly worried.

Witness the latest little piece that seems to be playing out differently: turns out, when they were talking at some point, Isilien invited Patrick to come to our little meeting of the minds as well.  On the one hand because he figured he could use all the brain power on this project he could find, and plus, apparently dude likes lighting a fire under Doan by bringing in second opinions from other magic users.  Because, you know, if there’s one thing that’s a formula for success with these future Scarlet Crusade people, it’s encouraging their insecurity and paranoia.  Yeah.

Anyway, though, Patrick came with us to see Isilien.  We just got back a short time ago – well, most of us did – and luckily, Edwin and his on-again off-again super-memory was able to help Liadrin get the record assembled fairly quickly:

 

Isilien greets Garrosh, Liadrin, Edwin, and Patrick through a half-opened door and ushers them into the room quickly.

ISILIEN:  Hurry in.  I don’t want anyone to notice us.

GARROSH:  Check.

LIADRIN:  Have you seen anything to make you think someone knows we’re doing something?

ISILIEN:  I just don’t want to take any chances.

DOAN:  Bad enough as it is that this many people are aware of our plans…

EDWIN:  Nice to meet you, too.

LIADRIN:  Gentlemen, this is Edwin Faranell; I believe you already know his brother Patrick…

ISILIEN:  <nods>  Edwin.

DOAN:  Do any of you have any cousins you’d like to bring along while we’re at it?

ISILIEN:  Doan, that’s enough.

GARROSH:  Hey, you know, if you’d rather not have our help…

DOAN:  As a matter of fact—

ISILIENDoan.  Lia is a sister of the Light, and we will show her friends the same courtesy we would any ally.  Or do you think a paladin of our own order would be turned against us in favor of the undead?

DOAN:  Fine.  Let’s just get this done.

LIADRIN:  Have you had any progress in your study of the crystal?

ISILIEN:  Yes and no.  I’m still certain it could be harnessed to repel undead attackers, but it’s a matter of how.

DOAN:  Especially without the crystal being available to us directly for long.

ISILIEN:  <nods>  Alexandros is right to want the crystal forged into a weapon – that singular object would be a devastating force on the front lines when the undead inevitably come.  But it also limits our options here.

LIADRIN:  Isilien, would it be possible for me to examine it more closely myself?

ISILIEN:  <nods>  Briefly.

Isilien sets Mograine’s chest out on the table and opens it.  The light crystal floats up from the chest and hovers over it, rotating slowly.  Liadrin steps up close, with Edwin and Patrick following close behind her.

PATRICK:  Heavens…

ISILIEN:  The crystal’s energy is…curious.

EDWIN:  How so?

DOAN:  For one, it doesn’t resemble any kind of enchantment I’ve ever seen.  I haven’t an idea of how the crystal could have been imbued with this much power in the first place.

GARROSH:  Didn’t you imbue it yourself?  Pouring all your holy spells into it?

ISILIEN:  That triggered its transformation from its dark form, but no, it’s not as simple as us filling it with our magic.  The power contained in the crystal is far beyond what we cast on it.

EDWIN:  You mean the shadow and light forms of the crystal are just different manifestations of the same energy, that it already had?

LIADRIN:  More that the crystal absorbed and generated holy energy…whatever was cast on it was taken in and magnified.

ISILIEN:  Exactly…it’s as if it were a generator of sorts for that energy.

Liadrin steps closer as they continue to talk, and holds her palm toward the crystal.  The crystal glows a bit more brightly, floats toward her, and rests against her hand; she gingerly holds it as the light pulses softly.

PATRICK:  So it’s a power amplifier, in a sense?  Potentially unlimited?  Is that the curious part?

ISILIEN:  Partly.

DOAN:  But it also…it still seems to be carrying traces of shadow magic in it.

EDWIN:  <leaning in closer>  Remnants of its dark state?

DOAN:  Possibly.  Or not even traces, per se, so much as…well…responsiveness to shadow magic.  As if it recognizes its presence and is drawn to it.

LIADRIN:  Just as it was drawn to the light when it was in its darkened state.

DOAN:  If it were a living thing and not a crystal, I would be tempted to say the shadow traces were more traces of memory.

ISILIEN:  Crystal or not, it seems to…like you, Lia…

The crystal continues pulsing and emitting a soft hum.

LIADRIN:  It does seem to…

The crystal glows more brightly, flashing more rapidly, then emits a sudden bright flash.  Liadrin, startled, recoils and drops the crystal, which falls against the edge of the table.  A small fragment of the crystal breaks off and bounces against Edwin’s arm; he lets out a pained shout and collapses to the ground, unconscious.

PATRICK:  Edwin!

Patrick kneels quickly to check on his brother while Liadrin rubs her head and steadies herself again.  The crystal returns to its normal glow and resumes hovering over the table again.

GARROSH:  Is he okay?

PATRICK:  He’s unconscious, but breathing.

GARROSH:  What happened, anyway?

DOAN:  I haven’t a clue.  The crystal hasn’t reacted to anything like that before.

LIADRIN:  <still rubbing forehead>  I think that was me.

GARROSH:  Patrick, help me get him onto the bed till he comes to.

ISILIEN:  What did you do, Lia?

Garrosh and Patrick pick Edwin up and stretch him out on the bed nearby.  Garrosh returns to the others while Patrick sits on the bed.

LIADRIN:  I thought I could use some holy magic to get a better read on it…sort of a poor man’s Mind Vision, I suppose.  I must have…startled it, for lack of a better word.

ISILIEN:  That would account for the light surge.  I’m not sure why that fragment would have harmed your friend, though.

Doan carefully picks the fragment up from the floor.  It gives off a dull glow in his hand.

DOAN:  Either way, it may have given us a possible way around our limited access to the crystal…

ISILIEN:  Assuming this one has the same properties.

LIADRIN:  Only one way to find out.

Liadrin casts Flash of Light on the crystal, which pulses a bit more brightly.  Isilien casts on it as well, causing another increase in its brightness.  Doan stares curiously at the fragment shimmering in his hand.

ISILIEN:  So far, so good.

DOAN:  It’s…very soothing.  How did it feel when you were holding the crystal, Lia?

LIADRIN:  <hesitates> Much the same.

PATRICK:  Good news, everyone.  I think Edwin is coming to.

GARROSH:  What happened to him?

DOAN:  I don’t know why a surge of holy magic would have been harmful.

EDWIN:  I think I… How long was I out?

PATRICK:  Just a few minutes.

EDWIN:  <sighs and rubs his head>  Just a second…

GARROSH:  Maybe, I don’t know, just a random blast from when it cracked…

DOAN:  It only hurt him when the fragment actually touched him, though.

EDWIN:  Okay, so…

PATRICK:  Don’t strain yourself if you’re still groggy.

EDWIN:  No, I’m fine.  So…I think that surge might have gotten me because I’d been spending a lot of time around Kel’Thuzad the last few days…

ISILIEN:  What would Kel’Thuzad have to do with it?

EDWIN:  <rubbing his eyes>  He’s been experimenting with necromancy.

DOAN:  I’d heard humors about that.  Very troubling…

EDWIN:  He was showing me and Helcular some of the magics he’s been working with.  I think it might have left some residual necrotic magic around me that the light there may have homed in on…

GARROSH:  Seems like that would make sense.

EDWIN:  Yeah, so… <tries to sit up, then groans>

PATRICK:  Don’t, you’re still shaky.  Just lay back and rest while we work.

ISILIEN:  If that’s the case with the fragment, though, that could be our way to use it.

EDWIN:  <aside to Patrick>  I’m fine, I’ll stay and rest.  You go help them.

LIADRIN:  What do you have in mind?

ISILIEN:  Considering what we saw happen with the dark and light forms of the crystal, it makes sense to suppose this object thrives on a sort of dark/light duality.  When dark, it seeks and absorbs holy magic in order to assume its light form.  And while light, it’s drawn to shadow magic, in this case to more harmful effect.

GARROSH:  You know, I think I know where you’re going with this.

Patrick returns to the others.

ISILIEN:  Released in the presence of a more potent – almost living, even – source of shadow magic, I think we could set it up to respond with much greater force.  Destroying, or possibly purging the magic it finds.

LIADRIN:  In other words…expose undead to this and the light will target them, then either destroy them outright or dispel the undeath that’s reanimated them?

ISILIEN:  I think so, yes.

DOAN:  It should be workable.  We just need to charge it with more holy energy and come up with a way to keep it contained until we would need to deployed to repel the undead.

PATRICK:  I think I can be of some help with that.

Patrick starts rifling through a box of assorted junk and magic items he’d brought with him.

GARROSH:  I was wondering what all that crap was.

PATRICK:  Oh, just some odds and ends I thought might be— Wait, what’s this?  <looking over what looks like a crystalline turtle>  Probably not important.  It’ll come to me later.  <tosses it aside>  Where was I?  Oh, that’s right.  Some assorted things I though might come in handy.  <pulls out an ornate rod>  Huh…enchanting rod…funny I’d have that seeing as I’m not an enchanter.

GARROSH:  So how much stuff do you have in there that you don’t actually know what it is?

PATRICK:  Oh, who keeps track of these things.  <brandishes the rod>  Also good for channeling, I suppose.  Which I also won’t be doing…

EDWIN:  I think Helcular could use one of those.

PATRICK:  <shrugs and tosses it onto the floor>  Here, give it to him, we don’t need it for anything.  Ah ha!

GARROSH:  What ah ha?

DOAN:  Isilien, I’m starting to think this friend of yours might be a little crazy.

PATRICK:  Ah!  Good news, everyone, I found it!  Just what the doctor ordered!

Patrick pulls a polished bronze canister from the box – less than a foot on each side, runes engraved in a horizontal band, and a rounded lid on top.

ISILIEN:  What is it?

PATRICK:  Let’s see how crazy I am now, Doan.  The correct answer is very.

DOAN:  Fine, fine, but what is it?

PATRICK:  <hands the canister to Doan>  Oh, just an ordinary canister.

DOAN:  I don’t really see how that’s usef—

PATRICKThat’s no ordinary canister!

ISILIEN:  Didn’t you just…

EDWIN:  Just let him.  It goes faster.

PATRICK:  This isn’t just your standard polished inscribed jewel-encrusted bronze box, oh no…

GARROSH:  Actually, I don’t see any jewels…

PATRICK:  Hey, those student loans aren’t going to pay themselves.

EDWIN:  That’s fine.  Don’t listen to the incapacitated guy.

PATRICK:  What we have here is a mirrored reliquary.  Its interior is enchanted to reflect magic back on itself and keep it contained within the canister indefinitely – basically takes a magical source and forces it to charge itself up even further.  Sounds about right, doesn’t it?

DOAN:  Damn near perfect.

ISILIEN:  Indeed.  I assume the fragment would have to stay sealed inside the reliquary at all times?

PATRICK:  Until we need its energies unleashed, yes.

ISILIEN:  In that case, the only thing left is to come up with a way to set it to release the energy in the presence of undead.

PATRICK:  Well, it’s not even so much the undead themselves, as the presence of shadow magic?  Or…whatever it’s called, necrotic something-or-other, the energy that reanimates them?

DOAN:  Assuming we can put this together, by the way, where would you suggest using it, Isilien?

ISILIEN:  For all intents and purposes, we’re creating a bomb that doesn’t detonate until its target is right on top of it.  I’d suggest we plant it in one of our cities, such that, should the undead begin to invade, it will serve the ward off the first wave.

DOAN:  Where would you suggest?  Andorhal?  Stratholme?  Lordaeron proper?

ISILIEN:  There’s no telling where the undead might move first.  But Southshore is where we made our discovery.  I think it’s as good a place as any to receive our first attempt at safeguarding.

DOAN:  Here in Southshore it is, then.

PATRICK:  As for releasing the energy… I’m fairly sure I could work up some sort of gadgetry that would react to exposure to necrotic energy, and unseal the reliquary.

DOAN:  You know how to do that?

PATRICK:  I’ll have you know I’ve had a fair bit of training in engineering.

EDWIN:  Granted, when he builds something, a lot of the time he gets a little too creative for his own good.

PATRICK:  Oh, people just like to complain.

EDWIN:  He’s all about the coulda, not the shoulda.

PATRICK:  Fine, fine.  Everyone’s always in favor of cloning dinosaurs, but harness one to a shark equipped with a ray gun and rocket boosters and oooh, suddenly you’ve gone too far.

DOAN:  Wait, you mean you…?

EDWIN:  <sitting up on the bed and stretching> Don’t give him a chance to dig out the blueprints, really.

PATRICK:  <chuckles>  Anyway, though… The point is, I’m pretty sure that we can assemble some sort of trigger mechanism that will react to nearby shadow energies.  Then, out comes the powerful, cleansing light.

Garrosh helps Edwin to his feet, then looks to Liadrin, who returns his nod.

GARROSH:  I seems like you guys have this under control, so I think we’re going to help Edwin here back to his room and let you all get to work.

LIADRIN:  As fascinating as this last part of the project is, I’m sure those of us not mechanically inclined would only be in the way.

ISILIEN:  Understandable.  Your friend could stand to get some rest, in a place that isn’t full of people chattering on.

EDWIN:  You have no idea, my friend.

ISILIEN:  Thank you all for your help with this.

GARROSH:  No problem, Isilien.

LIADRIN:  Our pleasure, Isilien.  Also, if I might offer a word of advice for after you’re finished here?

ISILIEN:  Yes?

LIADRIN:  Everything that’s happened in this room…it should stay in this room.  Don’t spread word of what you’ve done – or what happened with Mograine’s crystal – to anyone.

ISILIEN:  I know how to be discreet, so no concerns there.

GARROSH:  Yeah, but at the same time, you also seem to like to bring people in for help.  You want to be careful even about your allies.

DOAN:  See, I keep telling you you’re too trusting.

GARROSH:  I’m just saying, you need to keep your guard up about this stuff.  I mean, even if someone looks trustworthy, you can’t just take them at face value.  I’ve had my own…dealings…with the undead.  They’re not all slobbering zombies stumbling around groaning about brains.  You never know who you’re really dealing with, no matter how things look on the surface.

ISILIEN:  <eyes growing wide>  You…you’re right.  The undead could be anyone – we can’t trust anyone outside our own circle…

GARROSH:  Anyway!  Let’s get Edwin back to his room.  Night, guys.

PATRICK:  I’ll come check on you later, Edwin.

LIADRIN:  Goodbye, all.

EDWIN:  Thanks, Patrick.  Night.

Garrosh, Edwin, and Liadrin leave the room, close the door behind them, and walk down the hall toward their rooms.

GARROSH:  So what’s the verdict about the crystal?

LIADRIN:  When I was holding it, it felt exactly the same as when I felt M’uru restoring the Sunwell.  That confirms what I already suspected – I think Mograine’s crystal is the spark of a dying naaru.

GARROSH:  So you mean the Ashbringer is actually made out of…naaru essence?  Crap, no wonder the thing’s so powerful.

EDWIN:  Why did it seem to gravitate toward you?

LIADRIN:  I’m probably the only person it’s encountered who’s been touched by another of the naaru.  M’uru, A’dal… It changes you.  I imagine the spark could sense it, maybe even perceived it as kinship.

GARROSH:  Well aren’t you special.

LIADRIN:  I rather am, actually.

EDWIN:  And so, given all of its naaru-driven holy energy, I imagine that fragment knocked me on my ass because I’m… <glancing around to either side as they near their own doors>  Well, you know…  <holds his arms in an exaggerated marching-zombie pose>

LIADRIN:  You are and you aren’t.

EDWIN:  How do you mean?

LIADRIN:  I mean that yes, the energy rendered you unconscious because of your…normal state.  But that’s more of a…it’s hard to explain.  Hold on.

Liadrin opens the door to one of the rooms, leads them in, and closes the door behind them.

Look at it this way.  When we came through the time portal, we all took on human appearances.  But it wasn’t as simple as a glamour or illusion spell.  If one of us were injured and went to a doctor, the doctor would be able to examine us, work on us the same as anyone else.  They wouldn’t be reaching through some surface illusion and finding an elvish or orich or Forsaken body underneath.  Likewise if one of us died, we wouldn’t just revert back to our normal appearances.  As long as we’re here in this time, we literally are human.

GARROSH:  You’re TRYING to make me sick, aren’t you?

EDWIN:  Huh.  Interesting.  But if that’s the case, I don’t see why the crystal would affect me at all.

LIADRIN:  That’s the tricky part.  We’re all still carrying vestiges of our old selves, sort of a shadow or overlay of who we normally are.  In a sense both our forms still exist, overlapping in the same space, with our current state toggled onto this one on a quantum level, and…

GARROSH:  Okay, okay, let’s just say we’re human with a little drop of whatever else before you make my brain go on strike.

LIADRIN:  You’re just lucky it was merely the smaller fragment.  If you’d touched the main crystal itself it could very well have still killed you, even in this form.

EDWIN:  Ouch.

GARROSH:  That could have been awkward.

EDWIN:  Yes, I would hate to have an awkward death.

GARROSH:  I just mean explaining it.  Like to your brother.

LIADRIN:  I did the best I could just to cover for what did happen.

EDWIN:  Okay, well, let’s just drop it.  I’ve already had enough real deaths to dwell on, without obsessing on the near deaths too.

 

So while we’ve been back here in our rooms, Patrick has been staying with Isilien and Doan trying to get their gadget assembled.  The good news is that once it’s done, we don’t have to worry too much about tracking it down – we pretty much know that they’re going to plant it somewhere under the inn, which means the cellar, so once Isilien has had time to set it up, we can just get down there, take our readings, and high-tail it out of here.

Which, by the way, we can DO now, because while we were in our meeting, Mokvar managed to catch Tirion’s kid up in the lounge, got him playing with the frog formerly known as Faranell, and got the kid to agree to a trade for the shard.  Want to hear the funny part, by the way?  I got a kick out of this.  I guess when Mokvar first offered to trade with him for the frog, he started out by asking Taelan for the toy warhammer he’s always carrying around, and then let the kid talk him down to the shard.  I guess Mokvar figured if he came right out of the gate asking for the shard, the little snot-nose would be less likely to give it up.

Ideally I would have rather had the shard while we were in Isilien’s room, of course, but at this point it’s not worth running back in there and getting everybody’s guard up.  My guess is that they’re going to have the reliquary ready by the end of the night, tomorrow morning at the latest, and at that point we should be good to go.

It’s not easy being hexed

Posted in General, Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 29, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So credit where it’s due.  Mokvar came up with a winner of an idea to kill two birds with one stone.  Check this out: the reason he wanted The Noz and Chromie and what’s-her-face to enhance his hex spell is so he could use it on the YOUNG version of Faranell!  Now I know what you’re thinking – what the hell good does THAT do?  Well stay with me.

Liadrin stayed downstairs in the common room to watch for the Faranell brothers.  While she was there she got into a little small talk with Kelly, did a little smoothing over after our…um…incident.  You know, checking on how he was feeling since he seemed tired and delusional and shit, and reassuring him he didn’t have to worry about any livestock issues with us.  Our Faranell remembered that he and his brother had been out walking earlier in the day, and he gave us a ballpark figure on when they would be getting back.  More importantly, he remembered a window we would have to make our move.

Edwin and Patrick – the Faranells of this time period – came wandering into the inn right on schedule, and as they were making their way to the stairs, Kelly called to Patrick that a letter had been delivered for him.  Patrick went over to the counter to pick it up, and while he was reading the letter, Edwin stood around waiting for him at the base of the stairs.

That was our chance.  Mokvar had been waiting at the top of the stairs, and once Edwin was in position, Mokvar ran down to the first landing.  While Patrick was too busy going over his letter to pay attention to anything else, Mokvar got off his hex on Edwin, and POOF, frog.

As soon as the hex was cast, OUR Edwin ran down the stairs to step in where his younger self had been standing.  Mokvar and I both scrambled around like idiots trying to catch frog-Edwin, but after a few seconds, Patrick finished with his letter and looked back over our way, so Mokvar and Faranell started making like they were having a conversation at the base of the stairs, while I grabbed the frog and ran upstairs.

All of this was pretty much according to plan.  Mokvar had a brainstorm on a couple of levels with this scheme: first of all, if we keep younger Edwin hexed, and sub in our Edwin, that makes the problem of him accidentally crossing paths with himself way easier to keep under control.  And since older Edwin remembers everything he was supposed to have done and said right now – what with his supposed super-memory – he can just fill in for himself.  In the process, we free ourselves up a LOT to come and go as we need to, without worrying about running into Kel’Thuzad or Helcular on the one side or the Faranell brothers on the other.  And so we decided right off the top that once we made the switch, Edwin would introduce Mokvar to his brother as an old friend from Brill, just like he did with Kel’Thuzad, so we don’t have to be looking over our shoulders or juggling multiple cover stories.  Granted, Patrick had already met Mokvar once by this point, but that’s easy enough to play off as coincidence.

So as soon as Patrick spotted Mokvar “chatting” with his brother, they had their “oh hey, you know this guy too?” exchange, they all got to talking, and Mokvar “recognized” Liadrin and brought her in, so now everybody knows everybody mostly and we can stop fucking tiptoeing around like a teenager getting home three hours past curfew and sneaking a rebellious draenei girl into his room past his lightly sleeping Greatmother parents.  I mean who hasn’t been there, amirite?

So stop staring at me like that and just read the damn transcript.

 

LIADRIN:  So…Edwin – Edwin, isn’t it? – where did you say you were from?  Andorhal?

EDWIN:  No, that was Patrick.  I mean, Patrick’s the one from Andorhal, but yes, I’m Edwin.  I live up in Dalaran.

LIADRIN:  Ahh, it must be beautiful there.

PATRICK:  Have you ever been?

LIADRIN:  Not for quite some time.

PATRICK:  It’s definitely worth a visit if you get the chance.

LIADRIN:  So what brings you two down here?  I would think you’d have much more interesting things to do in Dalaran.

EDWIN:  Well, it’s nice to have a change of pace sometimes…

PATRICK:  In my case, I wanted to come visit Edwin for a bit before I head off to study in Silvermoon.

MOKVAR:  Ah okay.

LIADRIN:  I see.  What are you going to be studying?

PATRICK:  Alchemy, same as Edwin here.

EDWIN:  Well, except for how you’ve always been much better at it.

PATRICK:  Mostly alchemy, at least.  I’d like to work some more on the sciences in general.

Kelly brings several plates of food to the table.  Edwin starts in eating immediately, looking at a few bites thoughtfully while still holding them on his fork.

LIADRIN:  Thank you, Mr. Kelly.

MOKVAR:  Thanks.

EDWIN:  So, Patrick…

PATRICK:  Mmhmm?

Edwin stares at his food a moment before continuing haltingly.

EDWIN:  Who was…well…what was that letter you got?

PATRICK:  Oh, that?  Just an update from Emily.  Good news.  She just arrived and she’s getting settled in.

LIADRIN:  Emily?

EDWIN:  <gesturing to Liadrin matter-of-factly without looking up>  Patrick’s wife.

LIADRIN:  Oh, I didn’t know you were married.

MOKVAR:  Condolences.

LIADRIN:  Mokv—Movarius.

PATRICK:  <nodding>  Almost two years now.

LIADRIN:  You said she’s getting settled in – I assume she’s gone on ahead to Silvermoon?

Edwin shakes his head while poking at his food.

PATRICK:  Oh, no, she isn’t coming to Silvermoon too.  It’s just me going there.

LIADRIN:  Oh?  Why is that?

PATRICK:  Well, housing in Silvermoon isn’t cheap, especially for outsiders, and graduate students aren’t exactly rolling in money.

MOKVAR:  You’re going to be getting a doctorate, right?

PATRICK:  Cross fingers.

EDWIN:  You know you’ll be running the place within a semester, professor.

PATRICK:  <chuckles>  Whatever you say, uncle.  At any rate… Financially the easiest thing will be for me to stay in student housing while I’m there, and that’s not exactly luxurious.  So Emily’s going to stay with family while I’m studying.

EDWIN:  In Stratholme.

MOKVAR:  Stra— Oh.  It’s…nice there.

LIADRIN:  Yes… I, um, I suppose it’s close enough that you could still visit each other…

EDWIN:  I keep telling you, it’s silly to live apart for that long.  It’s not like you’re talking about just a couple months.

PATRICK:  Yes, yes, I know, how many times to we have to go through this?

LIADRIN:  I suppose it’s a fair point.  It does mean you’ll be apart for a few years at least.

PATRICK:  <shrugs>  I’m trying to think of it that this way – I’ll have that much more incentive to stay focused on my work and get finished quickly.  No outside distractions, just me and my research, and maybe in the process I can get done faster and start get established.

EDWIN:  Fine, don’t listen.

PATRICK:  I’d think you’d like the prospect of us stepping up the schedule, uncle.

MOKVAR:  Say…maybe I’m missing something, but why do you keep calling him that?  He’s your brother, isn’t he?

PATRICK:  Well, that’s what our mother keeps saying.  I don’t know if I’m convinced.  <smirks at Edwin for a moment>  Oh come on, smile a little.

EDWIN:  <still not looking up>  “Uncle” is just this little nickname Patrick’s had for me the last couple years.

PATRICK:  Basically as long as Emily and I have been talking about having a family.  My dear, morose brother here, kid-hater though he is, seems to like the prospect of being an uncle.

EDWIN:  I don’t hate kids.  <glances toward the upstairs>  Well, I don’t hate most kids.

LIADRIN:  Ah… So you were—are planning to have children, then, Patrick…

PATRICK:  <nods>  Hopefully.  Between you, me, and the walls, I’d rather like to have a couple sons.  <chuckles, then to Edwin>  Don’t let Emily hear that, I think she’d really like a little girl.  But I remember how much Dad seemed to enjoy himself with us.  Then again, he liked children.

EDWIN:  I like children perfectly well.  Just other people’s children.  I can play with them and be the cool uncle and all of that, and then give them back and be done without having to deal with the crying and the soiling themselves and the stabbing me in my sleep when they’re sixteen.

PATRICK:  Hence why you should be happy about me getting done with my degree sooner rather than later, uncle.

MOKVAR:  So you’re wanting to hold off on the family until after you’re done with your degree.

PATRICK:  It would be kind of crazy to do otherwise, really.  If we start having kids while I’m still working, either I’ll end up having a whole slew of new distractions from finishing with school, or I’d end up sticking poor Emily with all the work of taking care of them.  That would probably be the death of me.

Edwin cringes a little at the last sentence, which Liadrin seems to notice with concern.

LIADRIN:  Well then…I’m sure you know what’s best for you and your wife, Patrick…

PATRICK:  It’ll all work out in the end, I’m sure.  Anyway, I should write her a quick note back.  Shouldn’t you be going to see your Kirin Tor friend anyway, Edwin?

EDWIN:  My who?

PATRICK:  That fellow from Dalaran you’ve been taking those walks with.  Didn’t you say he wanted to talk with you about something else today?

EDWIN:  Did he?  That doesn’t… I mean, yes, yes I suppose so…

PATRICK:  I’ll be upstairs.  <stands up>  Movarius, good seeing you again… Lia, nice to meet you.

LIADRIN:  You as well, Patrick.

MOKVAR:  Take it easy, Patrick.

Patrick gives everyone a nod and wanders back up the stairs.

LIADRIN:  I’m sorry, Faranell.  I know this can’t be easy for you.

EDWIN:  Yeah, well…

MOKVAR:  I guess we should let you go do whatever you need to do with Kel’Thuzad…

EDWIN:  That’s the thing.  I shouldn’t be doing anything with him.

LIADRIN:  What do you mean?

EDWIN:  I remembered talking to Patrick about Emily moving to Stratholme when the letter arrived for him.  I remember pretty much every other conversation I had with him the rest of the way.  But I don’t remember seeing Kel’Thuzad again from this point.

MOKVAR:  Is that just another one of those things you seem to forget about?

EDWIN:  No, you’re not getting it.  It’s not that I might have seen him and I’ve forgotten.  I can remember every single thing I did the rest of the day today, and tomorrow, and the rest of this week.  I didn’t go to see Kel’Thuzad.  Yesterday was the last time I saw him for…well for weeks, actually.  There wasn’t any business about him wanting to see me again.

LIADRIN:  That’s…rather troubling.

EDWIN:  Nozdormu was right this morning.  Something’s going wrong with the timeline.  Somehow, something’s already changed because of us being here.

 

Because my life isn’t delightful enough right now, right?

Meanwhile, while all this happy news was happening, I was bringing frog-Edwin upstairs for the other part of Mokvar’s plan.  Here’s where the dude really got thinking outside the box.  He had figured, while we have this version of Faranell all frogged up, we can use him to kill two birds with one stone, because what better way to distract a snot-nosed kid from a shiny magic crystal that just sits there looking glowy, than with a real life hoppy potential pet?  Not that the little punk is going to KEEP Faranell forever, obviously, but if we give him the frog, Mokvar figures that should keep him distracted long enough for us to find where he has the chameleon shard, or maybe do a trade or something.  Anyway, it’s a possible way in without, you know, having to beat up a little kid.  Which I still say Chromie seemed a little creepy eager to do, gotta tell you.

So anyway, I brought the frog upstairs to see if we could do the switch, only Taelan was actually off in one of the rooms with Tirion.  So no opening to make the move there.  We’ll have to keep an eye out and try to jump in when we get the chance.  Probably will assign Mokvar to this job, since he can refresh the hex every so often if he needs to.  In the meantime, Faranell and Liadrin and I can be getting set for Isilien tonight.  With any luck things will start falling in our direction.  Not that we’ve had much luck so far, but at this point you have to figure the law of averages is starting to owe us.

All roads lead to Southshore

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

So Tirion’s sugar-high kid, Taelan, has been bouncing around non-stop since he got here with Tirion and the rest of his people, but I can’t help but get a kick out of how things are playing out with him.  Utvoch ran into him in this little lounge room they’ve got upstairs, and they got to talking a little, and now the two of them have been hanging out up there playing checkers and just generally hanging out and shit.  Which come to think of it, sort of kills two headaches with one stone.  I can kind of see why Utvoch would gravitate toward the kid – what with him being here with me, Liadrin, Faranell, and Mokvar, he probably misses having someone like Dontrag to hang with.  You know, around his own mental level.  A little kid might still be overshooting the mark a little, but it’s probably still a pretty major improvement to him.

So he’s been spending most of his time in the lounge, and that’s mostly been keeping the kid quiet(er) while Tirion’s off going about his own business.  All we really have to watch for is Utvoch not having any more run-ins with Kel’Thuzad, but I’m not so worried about that as long as he stays upstairs.  Kel’Thuzad’s still been bopping around town, but he and Helcular have mostly just been popping into the inn for meals and the occasional drink, and then going about their business.  Faranell tells me that Helcular used to live here in Southshore, so odds are KT is staying with him.

Speaking of Kel’Thuzad, and Helcular…and Tirion…and…well, okay, let’s just say speaking of everyone I mentioned in that last paragraph.  Last night, Then-Faranell met Kel’Thuzad and Helcular outside the inn and went wandering off for most of the night.  Meanwhile, the guy who had come to Southshore with Then-Faranell spent most of the evening hanging out in the common room downstairs, which somehow or other led to him joining Tirion and his group for dinner and generally acting like buddies.  All of this led to THIS little informational exchange with OUR Faranell while I was looking out the window to look for KT and company:

 

GARROSH:  Looks like Kel’Thuzad and the rest are still out by the main road.

FARANELL:  They’ll be out there a while.  We ended up walking around the outskirts for much of the night.  You don’t have to worry about us – well, them – turning up until you see them had out toward the river first.

GARROSH:  You’re sure?

FARANELL:  Yeah, I remember it.

GARROSH:  That’s nice and all, but I still have to check on these things.  It’s not like you don’t have a track record of forgetting things, like, oh, I don’t know, say, the fact that you WERE HERE IN SOUTHSHORE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

FARANELL:  <rubbing his face with one hand>  I’d forgotten a lot of things, yeah…

GARROSH:  Well, if we’ve got some time before they’re back in town…  Hey, Mokvar?

MOKVAR:  Yeah, chief?

GARROSH:  You’ve got a window to swing downstairs for some grub and a few drinks if you want.  Maybe grab Utvoch on your way, might as well feed him while we’re at it.

MOKVAR:  He still with the kid?

GARROSH:  Hell if I know.  Either there or his room, I guess.

MOKVAR:  You sure you don’t need for any more note-taking for now?

LIADRIN:  I can take over while you eat.

MOKVAR:  You sure?

FARANELL:  You’re a scribe?

LIADRIN:  I’ve been writing a history of the Sunwell for some months now.  There’s been a fair bit of research, interviews with people like Lor’themar Theron…

GARROSH:  Who?

LIADRIN:  …and so I ended up picking up shorthand pretty quickly to be able to keep notes on it all.  I’ve noticed Garrosh likes you to keep a record of everything – surprisingly sensible, all things considered – so I don’t really mind helping give you a breather here and there.

MOKVAR:  Yeah, thanks.  Have to admit, I’ve been starting to get writer’s cramp something fierce this trip.

LIADRIN:  It’s fine.  Go take a break.

MOKVAR:  Thanks.  I’ll see if I can find Utvoch on the way down.

GARROSH:  See if you can get a look at what Tirion and the rest are up to while you’re down there.

Mokvar leaves.

GARROSH:  Speaking of which… Faranell, who IS that guy who showed up with you?  Some friend of yours I’m guessing?

FARANELL:  I suppose you could say that.

GARROSH:  Well who then?  Anybody we should be worried about?  Please tell me he’s not another recruit for Kel’Thuzad.

FARANELL:  No, nothing like that…  He’s my brother.

GARROSH:  Seriously?  I didn’t know you had a brother.

FARANELL:  I don’t anymore.

GARROSH:  Oh… What happened?

FARANELL:  He died.

GARROSH:  Well, yeah.  Then again, so did you.

FARANELL:  In my case it didn’t take.

LIADRIN:  I’m sorry, Faranell.  Do you mind if I ask what happened?

FARANELL:  I suppose it doesn’t really matter at this point.  He studied alchemy like me – honestly, he was quite a bit better at it, certainly much more inventive.  Three years younger, but years ahead of me as a scientist.  He went to study under the high elves in Silvermoon.

LIADRIN:  Oh…  Oh no.

FARANELL:  You know the funny thing?  He always did so well in school that he ended up skipping a few grades and getting a head start on his advanced studies.  So if he hadn’t been so smart, he probably wouldn’t even have been in Silvermoon when the Scourge came.

LIADRIN:  I’m so sorry, Faranell.

FARANELL:  That’s why he’s here now.  He’s about to begin his studies, and he’s taking a few days to visit me before he goes.  He figured he wouldn’t see very much of me over the next couple of years.  Always nose to the grindstone with him.

GARROSH:  Do I even want to ask?

FARANELL:  I don’t know it at the time, obviously, but this weekend is the last time I ever saw him.

GARROSH:  Yeah, there it is… Sorry, man.  Look, if this is all hitting too close to home, I totally get it if you feel like you need to tuck away in your room till we’re done here.

FARANELL:  No, it’s okay.  I came here to a job, so let’s get it done.  Make the future safe for the undead.

 

This just in – Alexandros Mograine finally turned up today, with Doan and Fairbanks in tow.  They disappeared to their rooms right off – gotta say, to look at this inn from the outside, you wouldn’t think it had so much guest space up there – and while they’re probably going to be taking some time to settle in and rest from their trip and such, them being here means Liadrin and I are going to be on full-time watch downstairs.  Updates to follow.

A bad comedy waiting to happen

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 22, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

Pieces are starting to come together here.  Maybe a few too many for comfort.

Tirion Fordring – the younger, not-quite-so-old-and-gray version – arrived here late last night, with his buddies Isilien and Abbendis in tow.  We overheard Tirion talking with Kelly the innkeeper (lucky for us, young Tirion isn’t much more concise than old Tirion, so it wasn’t hard to keep up with his end of the conversation), and from what he was saying it sounds like Mograine and his people could be arriving any time today.  So we’re coming up on go time for the mission here.  And just when I thought things were lining up conveniently for us for once, what with us having just enough lead time to get ourselves positioned perfectly, of course the other shoe has to drop.

Let me explain.  The original plan was to have Liadrin and Faranell camp out in the inn common room to see what they can gather when the Silver Hand people are all assembled – those two made the most sense for the job, seeing as they’re sort of the experts, Faranell on all matters plaguey, Liadrin on the possible light crystal angle.  Meanwhile, I was keeping Mokvar and Utvoch out of sight in the rooms upstairs…what with Kel’Thuzad still being on the loose, and having seen those two, I wanted to keep them out of view as much as possible, just in case.  And I know what you’re thinking, shouldn’t I be just as concerned about Faranell being in plain sight in the common room?  Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s not ideal, but I wanted him down there as an expert witness and shit.  I was going to keep myself stationed outside, so if Kel’Thuzad turned up, I could high-tail it inside and give Faranell the signal to make himself scarce.

And yeah, how about that?  After all these years, promoted all the way up to fucking Warchief, and what job am I stuck doing out of necessity?  Fucking lookout.  The things I do for the sake of the mission…

Anyway, it wasn’t a perfect plan, I know, but it was the best option available.  That is, until Fuckyall, the pissy god of Not So Fast Garrosh, decided to throw us another plot twist, because guess who else picked tonight to turn up in Southshore?  Yeah, you guessed it, Faranell the Younger.  Or Faranell v1.0.  Whatever you want to call him.  He came sauntering into town this morning with some other dude I don’t recognize, which sent me right on into the inn – in every bit the happy mood you would imagine – to rush our Faranell on out of sight.  Ain’t that just a bitch?

So now, I’m going to be helping Liadrin watch over things in the common room, while…well…absolutely everybody else stays hidden away upstairs.  Oh, and for one extra little sprinkle of joy over all of this, Tirion also happened to bring along his little snot-nosed kid, who must have eaten EVERY LAST PIECE OF CANDY IN ANDORHAL on the way down, if his foot-stomping wall-bouncing little-kid-screeching sugar high is any indication.  The kid’s mostly been hanging around upstairs, so on top of being sequestered, the rest of the guys also get to be stuck right underneath the little walking noise machine.  Which…you know, come to think of it, that’s actually kind of funny.  Especially the part where Utvoch’s one of the ones stuck there.

Anyhow, with any luck things will start happening here quickly.  I’ll keep you all updated.

All my troubles seemed so far away

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

Okay, so remember what I was saying about not wanting any more complications?  Yeah, I should probably know better by now than to say shit like that.  Mokvar, Faranell, and Utvoch just got back from burying the bodies of those Alliance adventurers.  At least THAT much went off without a hitch.  After they got back, though, Mokvar hit me with the first wrinkle in this whole plan – apparently, back in the day, HE was one of the orcs being held in Durnholde Keep along with Thrall, which could cause the tiny little problem that if he goes there, he runs the risk of…like…running into himself, and…I don’t even know what that would do to the timeline.  Liadrin could probably explain it, seeing as she actually seems to understand this timey-whimey crap, but who has the patience, right?  Bottom line is, we have Mokvar troubles.

Oh, but the Mokvar business isn’t even the biggest fucking-up-the-timeline issue we have to deal with.  Oh no, we’ve got ANOTHER wrinkle to deal with that will make you wish you could go back to the happy-go-lucky headaches of the Mokvar thing.  Because check THIS out – it turns out our buddy Faranell has his OWN issues here.  And in HIS case, they’re not even as straightforward as Mokvar’s crap.  Because check out what the guys got blindsided by on their way back to town, keeping in mind that right now our boy Faranell looks just like he did back in his pre-undead human days…

 

Faranell, Mokvar, and Utvoch walk down the main street in Southshore, heading toward the inn.

UTVOCH:  Wow, you really get EVERYTHING written down in that notebook of yours, huh?

MOKVAR:  It’s actually not as hard as you would figure, once you work out a good shorthand system.

UTVOCH:  You’ll have to show me sometime, that could come in pretty handy with the next class I take.

MOKVAR:  Are you still working on those?

UTVOCH:  Yeah, I have to repeat the last one what with them failing me when me and Dontrag handed in the same term paper.

MOKVAR:  Wait, Dontrag?

UTVOCH:  Yeah, I talked him into taking one of the classes with me, but then he got sick of the homework, and we tried to save time by splitting it up, and…

FARANELL:  Wait, you mean it didn’t occur to you that they would notice if you both handed in the same paper for the same class?

UTVOCH:  Well yeah, who’d figure they’d remember something like that?

FARANELL:  I never thought I’d say this, but I’m starting to think Garrosh is heroically well-mannered…

MOKVAR:  Heh, you should see when—

VOICE:  <calling from behind the trio>  Faranell!

Faranell, Mokvar, and Utvoch exchange quick puzzled looks before starting to turn.

MOKVAR:  That can’t be good…

UTVOCH:  What the…?

FARANELL:  Crap, I think I know… <turning>  Oh…um… Hey, Kel’Thuzad.

Kel’Thuzad of Dalaran, accompanied by Helcular, approach the group.

KEL’THUZAD:  I thought I recognized you.  Good to see you as always, Faranell, it’s been too long.

FARANELL:  Um…yes, yes it has, Kel’Thuazd.  Just…busy with research, you know how it is.

KEL’THUZAD:  <nodding>  All too well.  I’ve been spending a fair bit of time away from Dalaran myself of late.

Faranell nods nervously while Mokvar and Utvoch edge a step behind him.

FARANELL:  Right…so…

KEL’THUZAD:  You’ve met Helcular?

HELCULAR:  I don’t think so, as I remember.

UTVOCH:  Isn’t he the guy that—

Mokvar elbows Utvoch, who (miraculously) shuts up.

FARANELL:  No, um, we are meeting now for the first time.  Yes…ahem…good to meet you, Helc—erm, that is…Hecklevar, you said your name was?  Sorry, I, um, I’m not very good with names that I have never heard before today.

HELCULAR:  Helcular.

FARANELL:  Ah, okay, Hel-cu-lar.  Got it.  But, um, yes, nice to meet you.

KEL’THUZAD:  And your friends here…?

FARANELL:  Oh… Oh, yes… <looks back to Mokvar and Utvoch, then back to Kel’Thuzad>  Introductions, yes… Um, well, Kel’Thuzad, this is… Movarius, and…Utley… Old friends of mine from Brill.  Fellows, this is Kel’Thuzad, archmage of the Kirin Tor…

KEL’THUZAD:  <nodding to them>  Gentlemen.

UTVOCH:  Hey.

MOKVAR:  Archmage.

KEL’THUZAD:  Are they also…students, Faranell?  Were you bringing them for our meeting?

UTVOCH:  Well no, not until next semest—OWW!

MOKVAR:  I don’t.  Think that’s.  What he was talking about.  Utley.

FARANELL:  Our meeting…oh.  Oh!  <rubbing his chin nervously>  Oh…crap…

KEL’THUZAD:  Faranell?

FARANELL:  Oh… Um, no, no, Kel’Thuzad, I just…um…

KEL’THUZAD:  You seem upset.  Is something wrong, my friend?

FARANELL:  I…  No, I… They’re not here for the meeting, Kel’Thuzad.  I just happen to… Well, you see, we try to come to Southshore for a fishing trip every so often, just an old custom going back to when we were kids, you know…

KEL’THUZAD:  I see.  Why were you so distraught there for a moment, then?

FARANELL:  Distraught?

KEL’THUZAD:  Yes.

FARANELL:  Was I distraught?

KEL’THUZAD:  You seemed it.

HELCULAR:  You said “Oh crap” for some reason.

FARANELL:  Oh.  Did I?

HELCULAR:  Yes, you did.

KEL’THUZAD:  That’s what I heard as well.

MOKVAR:  <skimming notes>  I have you down for “Oh crap” too, yeah.

FARANELL:  Not.  Helping.

KEL’THUZAD:  Is something wrong?

FARANELL:  Oh… Well, no, I guess I just said “Oh crap” because…well…I’d actually forgotten about our meeting.  Was that…today?  What’s the date today anyway?

HELCULAR:  It’s the fourteenth.

FARANELL:  <eyes go wide a moment>  Oh no…the fourteenth… How did I not remember that was the day…

KEL’THUZAD:  You did receive my letter, did you not?

FARANELL:  Oh yes…I did… It was just…some time ago, and it slipped my mind entirely…

KEL’THUZAD:  <chuckles>  You’re as forgetful as always, my friend.

FARANELL:  Well, yes.  I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.

KEL’THUZAD:  You should try to rest more.  We can’t have you falling ill.

HELCULAR:  What is you friend writing, by the way?

FARANELL:  Pardon?

HELCULAR:  Your friend’s been writing something down all this time.

FARANELL:  Oh.

Faranell turns to Mokvar, who’s still jotting things down in his notepad.

KEL’THUZAD:  That is rather curious.

FARANELL:  Oh…well…you see… Hmm.  What are you writing, Movarius?

MOKVAR:  Oh.  Me?

HELCULAR:  You haven’t stopped writing for more than a few seconds at a time.

FARANELL:  Yes, that is rather peculiar behavior for someone who isn’t doing anything conspicuous or out of the ordinary at all.

MOKVAR:  Oh… Well…um…well, I’m a writer, you see.

KEL’THUZAD:  Oh?

MOKVAR:  Yes… Well, a poet, actually.

UTVOCH:  You are—?  OWW!!  I mean, um, you are.

MOKVAR:  Right.  And so, well, I’m just…always jotting down ideas.  Thoughts, images, turns of phrase…you know the creative process, can’t pick and choose when inspiration will strike, right?

HELCULAR:  So you’re working on something now?

FARANELL:  Oh, he’s…he’s always working on something.  That’s my old friend Movarius, always toiling over a new masterpiece…

KEL’THUZAD:  You know, my cousin is a writer as well.  I always admired his talent.  It’s one of those skills I’ve never really mastered myself.

MOKVAR:  Um, thanks… It’s really nothing…

KEL’THUZAD:  Oh, don’t be modest.

HELCULAR:  I’d be curious to hear what you’re working on.

MOKVAR:  I…what?

KEL’THUZAD:  Indeed!  Would you mind sharing a bit?

FARANELL:  Oh, um, I’m sure Movarius wouldn’t want to eat up everyone’s valuable time…

MOKVAR:  Yeah, definitely, I’m sure you both have much more important things to be doing…

KEL’THUZAD:  Nonsense!  One needs to take the time to enjoy these sorts of pleasures.

HELCULAR:  I find I don’t do nearly as much pleasure reading as I would like, so it would be fascinating to hear from an actual working poet, honestly.

MOKVAR:  Oh…okay…well then…  <flips through a few pages in his notepad>  Well, okay, how about this one…  There once was an elf named Sylvanas / Who criedyou know what, um, I’m really not comfortable reading this while it’s still just a draft.

HELCULAR:  Oh.

FARANELL:  It’s all right, Movarius, don’t distress yourself… <patting Mokvar on the back reassuringly, while looking to Kel’Thuzad and Helcular>  He tends to get very anxious and protective about his work, you see…

KEL’THUZAD:  Ah, I understand.  So sorry, Movarius, I didn’t mean to put undue pressure on you.

HELCULAR:  <muttering>  Temperamental artists…

KEL’THUZAD:  I’m sure when you’re satisfied with it, it will be an epic work indeed.  You’ll have to send a copy to me when it’s done.

MOKVAR:  Sure, sure…might take a while, but sure.

FARANELL:  At…um…at any rate, Kel’Thuzad, I should probably see my friends to the inn, but I’ll speak with you about our…business…soon.

KEL’THUZAD:  <nods>  Of course, Faranell.  In the meantime, I may go ahead and begin discussing matters with Helcular.

FARANELL:  By all means.  I’ll… Um, I’ll talk to you shortly.

KEL’THUZAD:  Until then, my friend.

UTVOCH:  Nice meeting you, Kel’Thu—oh HEY, is that the guy who—OWW!

Kel’Thuzad starts to walk off with Helcular.

KEL’THUZAD:  Keep your voice down, Helcular.  Strangers abound…

HELCULAR:  So you can teach me this…this…

KEL’THUZAD:  Necromancy.  It is called necromancy…

Kel’Thuzad and Helcular walk out of earshot while Faranell, Mokvar, and Utvoch make their way toward the inn.

FARANELL:  We…really need to get inside before things take a bad turn here.

MOKVAR:  You mean when Kel’Thuzad comes looking for you again?

FARANELL:  No, I mean when I arrive in Southshore.

 

Yeah, how do you like THEM apples?  For those of you not keeping score at home, our buddy Faranell totally forgot that we just happen to be snooping around Southshore right around the same time HE was traveling to Southshore, as in his old human pre-undead self.  Which means that at any point, a duplicate human Faranell could show up right on top of us, which might make things just a TINY bit more complicated as far as making sure none of us cross our own timelines or whatever that shit was that Chromie was blathering on about.

I’ll write more in a little while.  Right now I think I need to run downstairs and see if the innkeeper’s got any aspirin, because this whole stinking mess is giving me a frigging headache.  I wish this whole damn thing was over.  Only it IS.  Only it’s NOT.  AAAAAAAHHHH I hate this fucking time travel bullshit…

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.”