So, I know I have plenty to update you all on after last time, but before I start getting into any of that, it’s time to dip into the mail…
A few questions for the Warchief:
I’ve noticed that Saurfang has not shown up in the EO chat logs for quite a while. Has he been dropped from the guild or simply quit playing?
Garona seems fairly, well… Bipolar. Has anyone thought to see if Faranell has some sort of magical or alchemical cure?
Why do folks get bent out of shape when I grab a burger? Tauren aren’t cows, so it’s not canabalism.
What is your favorite spirit or brew? I’m willing to buy you and Malkorok a drink, although I suggest not drinking his.
—Karlsohn, Thunder Bluff
Hey, Karlsohn, thanks for writing. I guess I’ll tackle these in order:
Yeah, you know, I was thinking of this when I logged on the other day. For those of you who might not remember, I got Saurfang to give EO a try with a refer-a-friend invite over a year ago, and got him into the guild. He seemed to take to the game well enough, and was flying through levels for a while there, but then he just stopped turning up. Like I said, this occurred to me the other day, so I looked up his last login – he hasn’t been online since around the time of the Theramore victory. I guess EO didn’t grow on him THAT much, or maybe he got to the point where he was going to have to start paying the monthly subscription, and, well, you know how old guys are about parting with their hard-earned coppers. And it’s not like I’ve been in contact with him much since things started heating up in Pandaria, so, y’know, your guess is as good as mine there.
Holy fucking hell, Karlsohn, that idea is frigging BRILLIANT. Why the fuck did nobody think of this before? Assuming Faranell’s got anything in that lab of his that’s not…y’know…fucking acid or something, he’s got to have SOMETHING that can even Garona out. And if he doesn’t, I’ll take the acid. You know the old saying: sprits grant me the strength to fix the things I can, the acid to liquefy the things I can’t, and the…um…some third thing I don’t really care about. Anyway.
Don’t worry about the tauren, they’re just sensitive like that. I’ve tried making the exact same point with them, but apparently cows are close enough to give them the heebie-jeebies. Personally, I think they need to learn to relax a little, because let’s face it – so far in recent memory we’ve established relations with cow people, lizard people, bear people, goat people, buffalo people, walrus people, spider people, fish people, cat people, bear people again, monkey people, and bug people. At the rate we’re going, if we make a point of not eating anything that resembles a race we know, the menu is going to get real short real fast.
I’m pretty fond of Blackrock Lager. Also, the ogre brew I tried last time I was in Outland packed a pretty good punch. (Don’t try mixing it with felweed, though.) Also, don’t worry about me drinking Malkorok’s drink. True fact: the guy is really big on those fruity weirdo drinks, like the ones that always come with those little umbrellas in them. I mean, I like some cherry grog now and again, but that’s as far as I go.
I’m going to be a warrior, much to Matron Battlewail’s dis disapt well, she isn’t happy. Do you have any advice for a newblood like me? I want to bring glory to the Horde, but not if I trip while charging at the training dummies! What if that happens in battle?! I don’t want to make you and the Horde unhappy!
Lok’tar, Mirembe, thanks for writing. Try not to worry about Battlewail too much. She always seems to have some kind of complaint about something. “What about the children?” my ass.
Anyway, if you’re having trouble with your warrioring, have I ever got some good news for you. There’s sort of a boot camp off the coast of the Barrens where you can go to work on your skills, above and beyond what you get from your regular trainer. Matter of fact, it used to be the only place where warriors could learn Berserker Stance, before it sold out and went all mainstream. So, next time you manage to give Battlewail the slip, head on down to Fray Island. It’ll be tough going at first, I’m not going to lie, but give it time. Orgrimmar wasn’t built in a day (especially that front gate, post-Cataclysm, because goblin contractors), and remember, there’s no shame in not being as awesome as me right off the bat. Well, okay, there’s a little shame, but not much. Point is, stick with the program, hang in there through the rough patches, and they’ll make a man out of you. Unless you’re a girl. In which case they’ll… erm… um… that is… they’ll…do something. Something good. Or whatever. SEE, POLITICAL CORRECTNESS RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD PEP TALK THERE.
Ey, warchief, didja know dat wyvern got three ballsacks? Dat’s all.
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again.
Felweed is a hell of a drug.
Yeah, these are my readers. Sadly.
Please explain Twitter. I try to explain it to some other orcs, but they think its only to tell people that you’re going to the bathroom or to post pictures of food. It got even worse when Dontrag and Utvoch got involved to explain Twitter.
Sir, seriously, why are some orcs so damn dumb? It’s embarrassing.
—Ruekie (@RuekieShaman), Shaman-in-training
FOR FUCK’S SAKE, REUKIE – um, I mean, for crying out loud, Reukie (YOU HUSH NOW, BATTLEWAIL), DO NOT TELL DONTRAG AND UTVOCH ABOUT TWITTER. Are you freaking kidding me? There isn’t enough failure and jackassery on the internet already? No. Just NO. A world of no. All the no that’s ever been ’no’wn.
But anyway, fine, I’ll try to help you explain the whole Twitter thing. I’m really kind of amazed that there are people so stupid that they don’t already know what it is. So, Twitter is this… thing…on the internet. Where you go and type stuff. Like publicly. On a web site. Unless you’re doing it on an app. (Which I am in NO WAY WHATSOEVER going to try to explain to the Wonder Twins.) And so you can type things into Twitter, and other people on the internet can read it and respond and shit. It’s kind of like having a little tiny blog, read by other people with little tiny blogs, only you all have fucking nuclear ADD so you can’t stay focused on any post longer than 140 characters. Or I guess you could maybe think of it like texting, if your texts weren’t being sent to anyone in particular. So you go to send a text, and when the little texting robot asks you who to send it to, you just throw up your hands and you’re all “Fuck it, whoever, I don’t care. Everyone. Send it to everyone, ever.” That’s Twitter.
Let me stress again: D&U, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO START FUCKING AROUND WITH TWITTER. Although, it actually MIGHT be funny to get Tirion started on it, and then see how many times he runs up against the 140-character limit before his fucking head explodes.
Dear exalted Warchief,
As we have seen, when Ji Firepaw was first introduced to you, he (as a mark of respect for and recognition of your status) called you Emperor. You appeared to take violent offense to that, and my question is, why? You fit the definition. You are the undisputed ruler of both your own national people, and a wide-ranging (multi-continental) group of non-orc nations, who none-the-less submit to you. (Even we of the Ebon Blade, though not a nation as such, acknowledge your position. Well, most of us. Some of us. Whatever.)
See, I think you’re misreading me there, Sintra. People seem to do that a lot. I swear, if people keep pointing out my “violent offense” at things, I’m going to start thinking that maybe possibly YOU GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKERS THINK I’VE GOT A FUCKING TEMPER OR SOME SHIT.
That said, I was pretty much correcting Ji simply because “Warchief” is my title, not “Emperor.” Officially. Yet. You’re right, though — I DO fit the definition. Seeing as how “Warchief” has been the title for a good long while, though, I figure I should keep rolling with it until I do something that, say, leads to a dramatic increase in Horde territory, power, and influence. Like, I don’t know, wiping out a rival power or three and annexing their lands. Now, see, THEN you could make a pretty good case that the Horde had achieved honest-to-fuck imperial status. And at THAT point, well, I can’t see there being much opposition at all to a triumphant leader declaring himself Emperor. Which DOES have a ring to it, I have to admit. Maybe I’ll even have some new processional music written up for myself and everything.
If you had the opportunity to meet your younger self, let’s say at 5 years old, what would you say to the young Garrosh?
What do you imagine that youngster would think of you?
—Kee, Jade Forest, Pandaria
Okay, first of all, considering all the timey-whimey shit I’ve already had to deal with, don’t even JOKE about shit like that. Haven’t we dodged enough bullets with time being fucked with? Do we have to sit down and come up with MORE clusterfuckery we could stir up for ourselves? Seriously, at this point, I don’t even want to be REMINDED of the Bronze Dragonflight. If I ever see any of those fuckers again, it’ll be too soon. Or too late. That is…um… FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.
But okay, if you want to play some weird hypothetical game with this, here. If I could talk to 5-year-old me – at which point I would have JUST been recovering from the red pox, and my mom would have still been alive – I would mostly tell him to spare himself the whiny emo phase, because Grom was actually pretty awesome. Don’t take everything at face value – yeah, on the surface it looks like the old man was a real piece of work, but it turns out that he was a hero in the end, and nobody even knew. And I have to figure young-me would listen, because he’d be sharp enough to take one look at how awesome he grows up to be and figure, damn, I must know what I’m talking about.
Oh, yeah, and while I was at it, I would tell myself to lay off the draenei chicks, because man oh man, is THAT one ever going to come back to bite you in the ass.
Speaking of which…
Heeey, how ya doing Hellscream!
My name is Kitti Scrollwiki, Goblin Scribe for the Azeroth Inquirer, Horde Edition. There are raging hot rumors about you and my readers everywhere just want to know more!
Who is Shayari’s mother? It is rumored she is Draenei. Is this true?
How long ago did this happen?
Is the mother very pretty? What attracted you to her?
How did you meet?
How long was your romance with her?
What food would best describe her?
Did Greatmother know? How did she respond?
Where can we find her now?
Is there any chance of reconciliation with her?
Are you paying child support?
How are your current girlfriend(s) reacting to all this? For that matter….who are your current girlfriend(s)? Inquiring minds want to know!
Oh, oh, oh, oh….
IS IT TRUE YOU ARE SHAYARI’S FATHER? (I almost forgot that, silly me.) This has been the hot topic of Orgrimmar while you were gone.
(By the way, if you have any juicy details you want to share, you know, just between you and me…I won’t tell anyone. On my honor as a Goblin.)
Don’t delay in responding! The Love Is In The Air followup edition is preparing to go out and this will make the pages sizzle! Hellscream’s Torrid Love Affair! Cha-ching!
Keep it real!
—Kitti Scrollwiki, Scribe, Azeroth Inquirer, Horde Edition
Yeah, so, I had to figure I was going to have to deal with some shit like this. As much as we’re trying to keep a lid on the whole Shayari deal, you had to know some rumors would start slipping out. So…same as with the letter further above, let me take these in order:
Shayari’s mother’s name was Marsiya. Yes, she was a draenei. I mean, really, have you seen Shayari? You weren’t able to piece that much together? Incisive journalistic mind you’ve got, I see.
Shayari’s seventeen years old. Why don’t you get out a pencil and paper and see if you can math out your own answer to this one.
What, you think I’d go slumming? Even back then, I didn’t have to settle. THE LADIES LOVE GARROSH.
Our eyes met from across the crowd. The moon was full and bright, its luminous glow dancing upon the surface of the water, and the air was sweet with honeysuckle. Across the lakeside pavilion, orc and draenei spun and danced in dizzying spectacle as the midsummer gala launched into its annual reverie. Distant voices, mirthful and musical, whispered unnoticed through the warm breeze, the whole of our attentions rapt upon each other’s gaze, in one of those singular moments both uncanny and sublime in which the universe seems, fleetingly, to reveal itself to the soul. IS THAT THE KIND OF SHIT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR? Fucking hell. We both lived in broke-ass starving villages shoved off into the ass end of a planet that some fuckhead went and blew up. What the fuck do you THINK we were doing? We were both out hunting to see if we could find enough food so that, hey, maybe THIS week half a dozen people we know WON’T croak, and we ended up fighting over who had dibs on that extra-meaty-looking talbuk, and somewhere in middle of kicking each other’s asses we took a good look and realized, hey, this one’s not half bad.
Depending on how you count, two months or eight minutes. Admittedly, not my best work.
Fish, because I hear tell fish is brain food, and she obviously was smart enough to know not to ask a FUCKING STUPID-ASS QUESTION LIKE THIS ONE.
NO SHE DID NOT. And does not. And still has a fucking killer right hook, so ixnay on abbingblay, for fuck’s sake, okay?
Go to Nagrand, pick a patch of ground that looks good to you, dig about six feet down, and cross your fingers.
See above. Unless you brought a Ouija board, not likely.
Oh, I’m paying, all right. I’m paying.
No comment. Also no comment. And ESPECIALLY no comments from YOU, Garona.
And finally: No comment. Classified. Matters of internal security.
Okay. Deftly handled, if I do say so myself. Hopefully that puts an end to the Shayari inquiries.
Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde,
I write to you after witnessing the disgusting perversion you show towards my people, specifically a child who may or may not be sired by you. I can see clearly that your kind are filthy mongrels even outside of battle, and will never be among the holy Naaru you pig fucking animals. Goodbye and may the Naaru char your city to dust.
—Vindicator Toriix, Exodar
As the child in question might say, you mad, bro?
I mean, really, I don’t know what you’ve got going on over at the Exodar – other than, y’know, hanging out with the talking chandelier and disco dancing like a motherfucker – but woo boy, you need to relax like nobody’s business. Seriously, dude, you need to get laid or something. Believe me, it’ll help you unwind.
Speaking of which, I’m not going to dignify perversion-this and mongrels-that with a response, but I do have to correct you on point of fact: not pig-fucking. Goat. Goat.
P.S. Your mom says hi.
That does it for this week, but as always, keep those letters coming. E-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org or use the handy-dandy form below.