Archive for mylune

Contest! Transmogs for Shay

Posted in Words from Behind the Curtain with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 8, 2014 by Garrosh Hellscream

shayari1

Hi, everyone.  Averry here with a reminder and an announcement.

First, the obligatory reminder – tonight at 8:00 PM EST, we’ll be having our second Friends-of-WCB Meta raid of Siege of Orgrimmar.  All are welcome to join in (well, unless we fill up…).  You can always find me on RealID as Averry#1116.

Now for the real announcement!

I’ve been happy to see that people seem to be embracing the character of Shayari since her debut a few days ago.  We’ll be seeing plenty more of her (not in the Gurtash sense), and I’d like her to be a departure from the one conspicuous Warcraft norm: People who, apparently, wear the same outfit every single day.  Clearly, Shay is a little more fashionable and stylish than that.

So, to that end, I’m announcing a TRANSMOGS FOR SHAYARI contest!  The basic gist: All you transmog fanatics (I know you’re out there!) are invited to put together an outfit for Shay to wear in at least one – likely multiple – upcoming comics.

A few notes and caveats as you consider the possibilities:

  • Shayari is a mage in training, so your transmog should consist solely of items that a clothie can wear.
  • When in doubt, let “Averry/Gurtash actually has to draw this” be your guide – i.e., try to avoid looks that are excessively elaborate or overwrought.
  • Try to have mercy on poor Gurtash.  (Translation: Let’s try to keep the poor girl fully dressed!)
  • Alternative for would-be fashion designers: You also have the option of designing your outfit from the ground up!  You’re welcome to come up with your own original gear design and draw it up yourself, then submit your sketches.  (Please try not to show up my own middling artistic skills too badly.)

Please e-mail your entries to me (garrosh1337@gmail.com) by SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27.  If at all possible, try to model your transmogs on a female draenei character, or save them as WoWhead outfits and share the link.  (Being able to refer to the outfit on a draenei model will just make it easier for me to translate it into comic form.)

I’ll choose my three favorites, and incorporate them into future comics as opportunity allows over the weeks that follow.  In addition to their own personal satisfaction, and boundless blogosphere fame (cough), winners will be able to pick one of the following prizes:

  • A comic-style portrait of your character from Gurtash!
  • An original EPIC VERSE from the Warchief on the topic of your choosing!
  • An in-blog (comic or transcript) cameo for your character – you too can rub elbows with the likes of Faranell, Liadrin, Dontrag and Utvoch, and the DPS!  (And hey, who knows?  That’s how Taktani got started…)
  • A ride on Mortimer!  (Not really.)
  • A hug from Mylune!*  (Only possibly.)
  • A highly coveted “Get Out of Conversation with Tirion Free” card.**
  • Something else that we mutually come up with, on the off chance one of us has a brainstorm!

Well, what are you still doing here?  Get transmogging!  Shayari has a wardrobe to fill!

* The Warchief’s Command Board makes no guarantee that Mylune will not have another episode in mid-embrace.  Hug at your own risk.

** May be exchanged for a “Get Out of Conversation with Dontrag and/or Utvoch” card.  (Likelihood of Garrosh personally entering the contest has now increased 400%.)

[A quick update -- I need to correct an error in this announcement: I listed the deadline for the contest as Saturday, February 27.  This is problematic, in that February 27 is not a Saturday.  Don’t ask me what happened there.  I was probably having another one of my many episodes.  At any rate, I figure I may as well err on the side of giving people more time rather than less, so let’s revise the due date to the next Saturday after the 27th, which would be March 1.

I think.  Hang on.

<checks calendar all paranoid-like>

Yes, there we go.  So, officially: the deadline for the Transmogs for Shay contest is SATURDAY, MARCH 1!  Get back to mogging!]

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 30, 2013 by Garrosh Hellscream

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Okay, people, it’s been WAY too long since I’ve dipped into the ol’ mailbag, and I have a HUGE backlog of letters, so let’s get right to it, shall we?

 

Hail Warchief!

The Feast of Winter Veil is approaching, and it made me think. What do you hope to get from Greatfather Winter this year? Do you have any special family traditions? I look forward to seeing Orgrimmar all decorated for the festivities.
Happy Holidays!

–Lorewalker Shara

PS you may want to avoid using tinsel to decorate around Mortimer, unless you like festive poop! Might be a good idea to keep Taktani away from it too, thinking about it.

Hey, Shara, thanks for writing.  Hopefully Orgrimmar is looking all Winter Veily these days.  I’ll be back for a check-in soon, but I’m probably only going to make it back to town JUST in time to catch the end of the festivities.  As for my wish list… I remember addressing this point a couple years ago, and most of the stuff on that list still stands – especially Varian and Magatha’s heads on pikes – but there are a few more things I can think of that I might add to the list for this year.

  • An actual explanation that makes sense for what the hell was going on with Mokvar while I was away.
  • A wireless network here in Pandaria that’s actually reliable, so I can log onto Earth Online without it being a fucking comedy show.
  • An on-site goblin tech guy who can maintain that network without the whole thing going kablooey and spitting out two burnt pieces of toast every time there’s a breeze, because let me tell you, Grizzle Gearslip ain’t happening.

Come to think of it, so far all of these could pretty much be covered if I could get a bunch more Spazzles.  Because really, as much as I clown on the guy, he actually knows what he’s doing and gets shit done, and unlike half these other jokers, I don’t have to worry about him running around behind my back doing spirits-know-what.  So, other additions to the list:

  • A scribe that doesn’t have traitorous tendencies, a busted-up writing hand, or the disposition of a six-year-old on a sugar high from eating all the Hallow’s End candy EVER.
  • The secret to controlling the sha.
  • A First War commemorative chess set.  This is the normal-sized, less creepy version of the chess set Medivh had over in Karazhan.  It’s been rumored to be in the works for years, and I’ve finally started to see them showing up on ebAH.  Yes, I play chess.  Don’t act all surprised, for fuck’s sake.
  • Varian’s head on a pike.  Did I mention this one?

As far as having family traditions for Winter Veil…not really.  I mean, keep in mind, Winter Veil is a pretty recent thing for us Mag’har.  We didn’t have Winter Veil back in Nagrand, so we only started picking it up at all after Thrall came out to Garadar a few years ago.  Greatmother Geyah really has taken a liking to it, but that’s about it.  Plus, not to get maudlin and shit, but it’s kind of hard to have family traditions when you don’t really have a family.  I mean, I never knew my dad, and my mom died when I was young.  I’m an only child.  As far as I know.  Assuming Grom wasn’t a bigger pimp than anybody’s given him credit for.  Anyhow, point being, Greatmother is pretty much the only family I’ve got nowadays, and even SHE’s not a blood relation – she’s just the one that raised me after Lakkara died.  So, yeah.  AREN’T YOU HAPPY YOU BROUGHT THAT UP?  BET YOU FEEL PROUD.

 

Greetings Warchief!

I am in desperate need of your assistance. I approached Regent Lord Lor’themar with my issue but he said that it was beyond his scope and directed me to contact you.

I recently inherited a house and it is in terrible need of redecoration. You have done a great deal of renovation recently and I was wondering if you could give me some tips to make my house look amazing. Attached is a picture of the house.

WoWScrnShot_112313_213143

Thanks,

–Tegwin

Grats on the new house, Tegwin.  Not so grats on the place looking like such a shithole.  Because, yeah, that place needs some work.  I mean, seriously…the wispy, billowy day-glow curtains?  A bearskin rug with the bear head still attached?  Strewn out there like you’re getting ready to do a photo shoot you already know you’re going to regret in five years?  And… Is…is that a hookah?  Just sitting there, right out in the open, in the living room?  What are you, one semester removed from college and stuck with a slacker troll roommate who keeps swearing he’ll have his half of the rent this month, and this time he means it, mon, only you know perfectly well that’s not happening because felweed’s a hell of a drug?

So, okay, a few things.  You have to lose the pastels, first of all.  I know that probably goes against every last one of your blood elf sensibilities, but trust me on this.  You want strong, commanding colors – the kind that will make people think “Holy fuck, some serious shit goes on in this place” when they walk in.  Lots of reds and grays.  Err on the side of darker.  Go too dark with the red and you get a bloody crimson, which is still pretty badass.  Go too light and you get pink.  See where I’m going with this?

Mount some weapons on the walls.  If you haven’t cleaned them lately and they’ve got some bloodstains, all the better.  It adds to the color scheme I’m talking about, plus it conveys a message of “This person is not to be fucked with.”  Spikes.  You can never have too many spikes.  Or skulls.  Get some skulls in there.  If you can carve up the body of one of your enemies and, say, make their skull into a chair for yourself, awesome.  Or maybe turn their bones into an end table.  A hat rack will do in a pinch.  If you haven’t killed any notable enemies lately, but you’ve got an infamous foe that you really only know by reputation but somebody in your family killed, and you have THEIR remains somewhere handy, that’s just as good, because that fucker was brought down by your bloodline (AGAIN NOTICE THE BLOOD MOTIF) and you totally deserve to share credit for the accomplishment.

This is all for your living room, of course, and I know my tastes can be a little hardcore.  I figured you might want to take it down a notch or two for your bedroom, so I went to Garona to get a woman’s opinion.  Didn’t get very far, though.  I told her I had a question about the bedroom and tried to ask her if she matches her rugs and curtains, or words to that effect, but she just got all pissy for some reason.  So, not much help there.  I seriously don’t know what’s up with her sometimes.

Speaking of which…

 

Dear Warchief,

I’m writing this letter to you in secret and I hope it gets to you and I’m not killed in the process.  *looks around*

It’s about Garona Halforcen.  Sir, she scares the everliving shi—uh—crap out of me.  *looks around again*

I happened upon some history stuff about her and now I’m all confused.  She was there when the first invasion from the Dark Portal, then she had a kid with an old man, and she is half-orc, half-dradne dranin demon *looks up spelling* DRAENAI.  (She looks like an orc.  Smells like one too.  I don’t see it.)

Now I’m all confused and sitting in a dark tunnel with a lot of thinking time had me thinking about her again.

What I want to know…*looks around*

How old is she?  She’s got to be like….ANCIENT.  *hides paper, looks around*

She doesn’t make sense and I don’t want to ask her.  She’s scary.

–Ruekie, Shaman In Training

PS:  There’s a lot of talk lately with the orc kids about the Red Pox, and if there is something scarier than Garona it’s that. I heard you had it once. Did it hurt? Can you get it again? Can we get it? Can an outbreak happen again? Too many questions and we are getting freaked out. Like FREAKED out. Really.

Okay, first of all… Um, Ruekie, you realize we were JUST in those caves all alone and out of earshot of Garona, right?  Not sure why you didn’t just ask your questions THEN, but whatever.  Kids.

First, the Red Pox?  No, seriously, you don’t want to get into the Red Pox, that was just a bad scene all around.  I don’t know why you kids would be talking about it now, but really, just let that shit die.  Nobody needs to be digging up THOSE memories for anybody.

Okay, now that that’s settled, on to your main point.  Yeah, I’ll grant you the scary thing with Garona.  Scariest bitch I know who hasn’t come back from the dead.  Although it’s probably a sad statement about my life that the list of people I know who HAVE come back from dead is a lot longer than you would figure.  Because – I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before – NOBODY STAYS FUCKING DEAD ANYMORE.

Anyway, here’s the deal with Garona.  Yeah, she’s half orc, half draenei.  Back in the day, Gul’dan bred an orc and a draenei to create a personal assassin – enter Garona.  Yeah, she looks mostly orcish, but I guess these racial mixes are kind of a crap shoot as far as which race’s physical traits you get.

Anyhow, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure exactly when Gul’dan actually orchestrated her birth.  I know it was definitely before the Dark Portal opened, and that was about 30 years ago, but before that, there was a window of about 20 years when Gul’dan was up to some Really Bad Shit, so the breeding experiment could have happened anywhere in there.  Let’s shave off the first couple years to give Gul’dan time to come up with this idea and for Garona to be brought to term.  That would mean that Garona would have to be anywhere from, say, 32 (She’s not.  Seriously.  I’m 35.  There’s no damn way she’s younger than me.) to around 48 or so.  Anywhere in between, your guess is as good as mine.

Hang on, though – this gets more complicated when you add the fact that Gul’dan had Garona aged magically so that she could get right to work, no childhood needed.  Swell guy, huh?  Anyway, the age of adulthood among orcs varies a little from clan to clan, usually somewhere from 13 to 15.  (Yeah, I know, kid, can you believe it?  Technically you’re an adult.  Hard to imagine you’re a grown-up, huh?  Well, let me clue you in on a little secret: That thought won’t stop seeming weird for another 20 years.)  So that would mean, however old Garona is according to the calendar, she really has the body of a woman 13-some-odd years older.  So now we’re looking at a physical age putting her somewhere between 45 and, like, 60-something.  Which is kind of a big deal when you consider that 70 is about as old as you could reasonably hope to live as an orc, even if you do a perfect job taking care of yourself.

Oh, but hang on, we’re not done yet.  It’s about to get more complicated.  (Don’t look at me – I didn’t make this shit up.)  Because, see, since Garona has that draenei half, her aging is even more fucked up.  Draenei live for…like…forever.  I mean seriously, I think the average draenei lifespan is something like “infinity minus twelve.”  So you mix THOSE genes in with our good, wholesome “70 if you’re super lucky” orcish genes, and…well… You’ve got a woman who’s technically, like, 40, only with the body of a 53-year-old, only not really because 53 doesn’t mean anywhere near the same thing to the draenei part of her, so…um… Who the fuck knows?

She’s old, okay?  Only she’s kind of not.  Only she is.  Whatever – you go figure it out.  Meanwhile I’m going to go check around the room and make sure there aren’t any whooshing sounds coming from the corners.

 

The following is written in elegant, but slightly shaky, cursive script on pale peach-colored parchment paper

My dear little Roshy,

How are you doing? I have missed you. It’s beautiful here in Nagrand – we’re having the most glorious late-fall weather.  I hope all is well in Orgrimmar.

Why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?  Sounds serious too… She has been sending me letters telling me about how deeply in love you both are, and has included many pictures of you with little hearts and flowers drawn on them.  She says you’re getting married in the spring?  Why didn’t you mention it?  You would think you’d keep your own family informed, dear.  We’ll have to have a little chat the next time you visit.  You are coming home for Winter Veil, are you not?

Also, you should take some pictures of the two of you together.  And perhaps find a new photo studio.  These look like they were printed on magazine paper instead of proper photo paper.  I can’t properly frame them for display, especially not with the lipstick kisses smeared all over them.

All my love,

–Greatmother Geyah.

Hold on, hold on, what… how the… it… GODDAMMIT, SOMEBODY IS FALSIFYING RECORDS OF THEIR WARCHIEF, and…and…  Oh fucking hell, now I’m going to have to go out there and explain Photoshop to her.  It was bad enough when I had the bright idea to try to show her the internet.  Nothing in my e-mail for two months but forwarded pictures of wyverns asking for cheeseburgers.  And WHO is this woman who’s…ugh.  You know what?  I don’t even think I want to know.  Even though I can probably think of a couple likely suspects.

Now I’m just imagining somewhere in Orgrimmar there’s a dim, candle-lit room with walls covered by pictures of me, and…no, no, don’t even go any further with that, Garrosh.  That way madless lies.

And now on top of everything, I have to squeeze in a trip to Nagrand before Winter Veil totally runs out on me, or I’m never going to hear the end of it.  Ugh.  Maybe I’ll bring Gurtash, and see if I can maybe distract her a little with the cute kid factor.  Or Ruekie?  I bet she’d like Ruekie.  Plus Rook might want someplace to hide anyway, what with her probably having Garona out for her head as soon as this post goes live.

 

Very good to hear you have escaped the Saurok caves unharmed. The Horde would be in a very dire position if we were to lose our leader.

I do have one question. Have you ever thought of asking a mage if they could manage to conjure lemon squares? I have no complaints, but the same old sticky buns are a bit tiring after some time (not to mention they turn stale and hard as a rock after some time sitting in a bag). Perhaps you should collaborate with my wife? I am sure she would be very good to collaborate with, or maybe another mage closer to your location.

Regards,

–Shen-Wei Pureblossom

Thanks for writing, Shen-Wei.  You know, I HAVE thought of this lemon squares angle before, but here’s the thing.  First off, there was a point around this time last year that I really thought Gija down in the Cleft of Shadow was on to something, but the problem is, lemon squares don’t really lend themselves to conjuring, apparently.  I mean, you can abracadabra up some pastries that are sorta, KINDA in the same ballpark as lemon squares, but you can tell they’re not the real thing.  It’s like the drop-off from real leather to that fake shit that the damn DEHTA hippies try to pass off and think they’re fooling anybody.  And once you’re used to eating the real thing, I mean, come on.  It would be like going from having me as Warchief to, I don’t even know, a fucking TROLL or something.

Second of all, having spent my whole life eating those lemon squares, let me tell you, we don’t need mages recreating Greatmother’s recipe, because IT’S ALREADY MAGICAL.  (See?  See how I’m already working on smoothing things over with her?  For real, I’m so fucking diplomatic you could just shit a brick.)

Also, even setting all that aside… Nothing personal, but I don’t take anybody up on any suggestions that include the phrase “perhaps you should collaborate with my wife” ever since the Incident That Shall Not Be Discussed over at Tharl Stonebleeder’s house.  Now stop making me think about things that cannot be unthought.  MOVING ON.

 

Hail Warchief.

Rumors are flying that there is a red pox outbreak. Is this anything like the scourge?

–Kelytas, Blood Elf Paladin, Borean Tundra

Wait, again with the Red Pox?  No!  We’re not going to talk about the Red Pox.  Why the fuck is everybody so curious about the Red Pox all of a sudden?

 

I really enjoyed that Photo-Op you had with King Varian a while ago.  I couldn’t help but notice that King Varian had a wonderful tousled-Anime-pigtail thing going on that was at the same time sexy but tough, and you…well, you just look cranky.

I checked in with the Couturier Barbershop in downtown Orgrimmar and was quite frankly shocked at the dismal array of hairstyles available.  An up-swept Mohawk with a scarf?  Are you kidding me?

I know you might have a couple of things on your plate right now but seriously, you really need to look into this before the entire Horde start looking like extras from Naxxramas.

Maybe you could contact King Varian, find out who does his hair and we could have a Stylist Exchange with one of our Barbers so they could learn some new hair techniques and bring back the Glory of the Horde.

I also noticed that our Tailors are in desperate need of new patterns.  Malevolent-style silk pantaloons?  Really?  That is so last-season…

–A Concerned Fashionista Blood Elf

Lor’themar, is that you?

Yeah, let me get right on that.  I’ll send a special diplomatic courier right over to Stormwind with a note that says, “Who does your hair??”  Yeah, that would go over great, I’m sure.

Hmm.  Actually, come to think of it, a message like that would probably seem SO weird to Varian that it might fuck with his head a little.  Like, I can totally imagine him reading that and thinking, “Garrosh wouldn’t give a shit about my hair…WHAT IS HE UP TO?”  And then he gets all paranoid and shit.  And meanwhile I’m just sitting back and not doing anything, and the longer this goes on the more paranoid he gets – ESPECIALLY when it’s time for him to go to the barber, because, hey, THIS IS WHAT GARROSH WAS ASKING ABOUT.  And maybe he gets so messed up and suspicious that he stops going to the barber altogether, and his hair grows and grows, and finally he’s just got this total mess of a rat’s nest on his head, until maybe he eventually can’t stand it anymore and shaves it all off and ends up bald.  Same as me.

There you have it, ACFBE.  Problem solved.  Garrosh comes out ahead of the curve yet again.  Boom.

 

Hail, Warchief!

I’m studying Orcish History at school and need to write an essay. I thought I’d write about the Red Pox and it’s impact, and I thought it would be neat if I could quote you on the subject, if you don’t mind.

I know it was a terrible illness, but there aren’t any first-hand records that I’ve been able to find. What was it like to live with the Red Pox? Do you remember much from those years? Did you notice any major differences between Orcish society as a whole and the way Orcs lived in Garadar? Pretty much anything you can remember would be great.

Thanks!

–Anonymous Scholar, Orgrimmar

Okay, so at least NOW I have some idea of why everybody’s got the Red Pox on the brain this week.  So okay, fine, just this once I’ll talk about it, seeing as I’m probably one of the only Red Pox survivors a lot of these kids will have the chance to meet.

It sucked.

What, you wanted more?  FINE.

I’m not going to waste time going over the symptoms, because there must already be records of that, and I’m pretty sure neither one of us wants to spend our lunch break reviewing my childhood vomiting habits.  But yeah, I had it as a kid, and even setting aside the physical suffering of it all, I can’t stress enough how much of an effect it had on the culture of Garadar.  I mean, you asked if there were any major differences between Garadar society and orcish society as a whole?  Fuck, what WASN’T different?  The Red Pox hung over our whole culture.  It touched everything.  We had whole generations who were born and died – prematurely, granted – under the bane of that thing.  That was the worst part of it, really – the sense of resignation it left us with.  It was like, for a lot of us, there was this sense that the Red Pox came for our grandparents, and then it came for our parents, and now it’s going to come for us.

Over the years, our shaman kept working to find a cure, and every so often there would be a glimmer of hope that maybe they had something.  But then there would always be some disaster that would undo it.  After a while that became part of the gloom and doom of it – the shaman would come up with a new possibility, and you never quite stopped hoping, but deep down you were thinking, “Okay, let’s see what fucks it up THIS time.”  Even when they finally did find a cure, and the suffering could finally end, a lot of us couldn’t even quite believe it was really happening.

Adding to all this, by the way, was the fact that over in Telaar, the draenei had their own parallel illness going on for a while.  It was called the lank distemper – or the “Lanks,” as a lot of folks ended up calling it.  Basically an infection that caused severe dehydration and loss of appetite, so the afflicted would wither down to these scrawny shadows of their former selves.  Sometimes the two diseases would flare up as if they had a contest going to see which one could kill more victims.  Which made for some miserable times for everybody involved.  Believe me, for anyone who was living through it, you do NOT want to get them started on the whole Lanks / Red Pox rivalry.

Is that enough?  Are you happy yet?  Or do I need to relive the time the conjured healing sphere rolled between Bullrok’s legs and into the lake, too?

 

Dear Garrosh;

Winter Veil is here! Time for a great orc cheer! Lok’tar!

I am so looking forward to making cookies and milk for Greatfather Winter this year with my new cooking skills I learned from Pilgrim’s Bounty holiday. I may even add some lemon squares to add some extra favor. I’m really hoping this year he’ll give me a ferocious armored bloodwing with exotic leather saddle for riding. That would be so cool! (Sigh, I’ll probably end up with another copper racer though.)

What are you hoping for Winter Veil this year, Mr. Garrosh sir?

Varian on a spire tree?

Blood and thunder!

–Ruekie, Shaman-Still-in-Training

PS: Greatfather Winter looks awful familiar, but I can’t quite figure it out. Kinda like Mr. Saurfang, but that would be impossible…I think. (Nothing is impossible with Mr. Saurfang.)

PPS: Winter Veil holiday is a great time for eating. Try no to eat too many lemon squares, though, sir. It doesn’t take much to make your muscles look like marshmallows.  D: 

Bye!

Wait, Ruekie AGAIN?  When the hell is she writing all these letters?  Fuck, maybe I should hire HER as a scribe, if this is how fast she can crank out pages.  Anyway.

So also, before we get into anything else…hang on, you want a BLOODWING for Winter Veil?  A frigging BAT?  All of a sudden, a WYVERN isn’t good enough for little miss tornado-pants?  You’ve seen Mortimer in action, up close and personal, and you’ve decided, “Nah, let’s give the universe a sporting chance – keep the wings, take away all the parts that really make the wyvern badass, and replace them with a giant blind rat”?  Are you KIDDING me?

I already answered the part about what I want for Winter Veil a few letters up, so no need to get into that again.  And I’m not going to dignify the lemon squares thing with a response.  But I have to comment on that thing you said about Greatfather Winter.  You know, one thing that people always say about Greatfather Winter is that there’s no way the guy could possibly fly all around the world and deliver presents to everyone in just one night.  Well, I think you might have found the one gaping hole in that theory.  So, next time you find yourself in an argument with some skeptic who doesn’t want to believe in Greatfather Winter, just unload this one on them:

“I’m telling you, there isn’t enough time for Greatfather Winter to do all that!  It isn’t physically possible!”

“What if Greatfather Winter is really Saurfang?”

“Oh… Um… Well then.”

 

Yo Mon!

I hear you had de red pox, mon. On dat game Earth Online dey has a disees call chicken pox. Es dat de same? (What do chickens haf to do wit dat?)

Dey say in dat game, once you hav it, you cannot get et again. Yah, mon, you are now invisible to dat disees, like de lich king’s horse.  Dat is good news!

Cheers, mon!

–Bobbette, Out der somewhere

Okay.

So.

I am beginning to get the very distinct impression that I may be getting trolled.

 

Hey mon!

What’s dis I be hearin’ about da Red Pox breakin’ out again?  It be all anybody be talkin’ ’bout dese days!  If you get it, does dat mean ya turns red?  I remember seein’ some red orcs back in Hellfire Peninsula, mon, was dey havin’ da Red Pox?  Dey go from green ta red?  Don’t get me wrong, mon, I don’t want nobody gettin’ sick, but if dere be anudda outbreak, look on da bright side – all dat red an’ green togetha be lookin’ nice an’ festive for Winter Veil!

–Bob, Shado-pan Monastery

I hate you.  I really, truly hate you.

 

Excuse me, Warchief, I write to you from Dustwallow marsh, I came here to see if I could find test subjects for a new flamethrower, and found something much more interesting, there is this mysterious woman on the road to the ruined theramore (hah!) and she seems to be able to send me back in time to look at theramore and the swamp before theramore was destroyed, I went to sleep at mudsprocket and woke up in present day. She seems upset that I was killing humans as soon as I was there, and refuses to send me again.

–Ritaba, Mudsprocket 

Wait, wait, hang on.  Let me get this straight.  You’re telling me that there’s someone hanging around Dustwallow Marsh sending people back in time to Theramore before we blew it up?  As in, making it possible to totally sidestep our whole victory and interact with the place like it was before?  That… fucking hell, THAT DEFEATS THE WHOLE POINT OF US BLOWING IT UP IF YOU CAN FUCKING DO THAT!

You know, this has the Bronze Dragonflight written all over it — or at least it WOULD, if it weren’t for the fact that this is PRECISELY THE SAME KIND OF SHIT they they’ve been recruiting people to PREVENT for years now, and by the way didn’t I just march through like 50 miles of steaming shit over their whole “integrity of the past” deal last year?!  But hey, apparently it’s NO BIG DEAL when you’re talking about Theramore, right?  SURE!  WHY NOT?  Hey, how about I zip on back to the past and start fucking with shit too, because I GUESS THAT’S ON THE MENU NOW, RIGHT?

Fucking dragons.  FUCKING TIME TRAVEL!

UGH!

 

I have been reading the history of Pandaria, and discovered something no one has bothered to take note of, seven burdens of Shaohao, the story of how the last emperor of Pandaria defeated the six sha and locked them away in a poor fashion (He couldn’t have kept them from causing havok any time someone gets cranky?), and there are older writings indicating a beast with seven heads, perhaps there is a seventh sha never recorded, it could be the key to controlling them.

–Yinsun, Vale of Eternal Blossoms

Now see, THIS is an example of some research that might actually be useful.  You might be on to something there, Yinsun.  It DOES seem kind of fishy that we have this story about Shaohao and his seven burdens, and this seven-headed thingamabob, and then we only have six sha that we know about.  It’s definitely worth considering whether we’ve got one more sha on the loose that nobody’s thought of.  (Hell, I was even bouncing ideas about this around with some people on Twitter a little while ago.)

For anybody keeping score at home, we might as well start with the basics.  Right now, we’ve got six sha accounted for: the Sha of Doubt, the Sha of Anger, the Sha of Despair, the Sha of Violence, the Sha of Hatred, and the Sha of Fear.

So, okay, let’s suppose there’s one more out there.  Since the sha we know about all seem to be named for pretty major negative emotions or vices…hmm…let’s see, what do we have left for major negatives?

There could be a Sha of Greed, I suppose.  Although…I mean, we have goblins with us, and I have to figure if there were a Sha of Greed, people like Grizzle Gearslip would be setting the fucker off left and right.  The Sha of Jealousy, maybe?  Makes sense on paper, but again, you’d figure we’d be having outbreaks all over the place, seeing as we’ve got a base full of people who’ve been watching me stroll around day after day.  And you KNOW the peeps get jelly when they feast their eyes to the pure awesome that is yours truly, amirite?

So we’re kind of running out of major vices to pair up with the missing sha.  What else is there?  Free-associate, Garrosh… hmm… the Sha of Gluttony?  The Sha of Sloth?  The Sha of Anteater?

Hang on…I think that line of thought took a wrong turn on me somehow.

Maybe we’re going about this wrong.  Time to think outside the box a little.  For all we know, this last sha could be kind of a niche sha, something more specific and less…well…grandiose.  Which might explain why this one might have been able to fly under the radar all this time.  So, let’s see, what else could be out there as the sneakier, subtler bane of our existence…

  • The Sha of Social Awkwardness
  • The Sha of Small Talk
  • The Sha of Poor Table Manners
  • The Sha of Bad Penmanship
  • The Sha of Bad Spelling
  • The Sha of Typos (possibly related to above)
  • The Sha of Not Picking Up After Your Wyvern
  • The Sha of Repetition
  • The Sha of Redundancy
  • The Sha of Telegraphing Bad Jokes
  • The Sha of Walking Really Slowly in Front of People at the Mall
  • The Sha of Paper Towels with Inexplicably Strong Perforation So You Try to Snap Off One Square and End Up Yanking Out Half the Roll
  • The Sha of Telling the Same Story Over and Over and Over Again Even Though Yes I Already Know How You Met Eitrigg Okay Tirion

Okay, you know what?  This is going nowhere fast.

Wait, wait, hang on a second… I could swear I HAVE seen another sha somewhere.

shaofhappiness

HOLY FUCKING HELL THAT’S IT!  THE SHA OF HAPPINESS!  Come to think of it, I even remember seeing this fucker on Twitter!  Fuckin’ A, I KNEW all those annoyingly happy assholes like Mylune were up to no good!  IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.

 

Okay, that’s going to do it for this time, but keep those letters coming.  You guys really stepped up to the plate with this batch of letters, so you know what that means — THE BAR HAS BEEN RAISED.  So keep it going, and I’ll try to be back with more wise words soon.  Handy form included:

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2013 by Garrosh Hellscream

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So before I head out to check on the Temple of the Red Crane, I figured I’d make a quick mailbag check and dip into the latest batch of letters.

 

Dear Warchief,

Hello sir.  I’m one of Overlord Runthak’s trainees and I’ve been reading your blog for a long time.  I’ve noticed that between Garona and Warlord Zaela, and even mailbag writers like Wega, you really seem to have a following among the ladies.  My question is, how do you do it?  I haven’t had much luck with the girls in my training group, and I bet it would help a lot if I knew your secret.

Thank you,

–Dol’akar

Hoo boy.  This one again.  See, Dol’akar, I wish it was that simple, but seriously, this is kind of like going up to Mylune and saying, “Teach me to be batshit crazy like you.”

Thing is, something like 85% of my game comes down to the fact that I look like a canister of distilled sexy, kick ass on two planets, and – let’s face it – lay the pipe like an army of plumbers in the Wetlands.  And all that’s just natural.  Now, since you’re a trainee, I’d like to tell you that part of your problem is that you’re still just a teenager, and adolescent awkwardness and blah blah blah, and things will get better as you get older, but honestly?  I was doing just fine for myself when I was a teenager in Nagrand (I tell you, those draenei girls were crazy back in the day), so, you know…again, natural.

Still, if you think it’ll help you at all, I can let you in on the other 30% of my game.  To start with, you want to buckle down in your combat training.  This should help you in a number of ways.  First off, it’ll keep you in good shape, which at least gives you an outside chance of offsetting a little sliver of the disadvantage of having no shot at being as dead sexy as me.  Second, it’ll put you in a better position to beat the living crap out of any competition you might run into from among the other trainees.  This will show the girls that you’re sensitive to their needs.  Those needs being, of course, that they need to stop wasting their time on those other assholes and focus on you, and hey, what the fuck do you even think YOU’RE doing here, chump?  But yeah, girls seem to like that sensitivity crap – don’t ask me why – so that should win you some points.  And third, the better you do in battle, the faster you’ll be able to advance through the ranks.

Which brings us right to our next point: power is sexy.  Let me tell you, after Nazgrim made the jump from Sergeant all the way up to Legionnaire and then General, he had women all over him.  You know, until he crashed two ships and killed them all.  But that’s a whole other thing.  (This reminds me of another suggestion: Work on your piloting skills.  Because why tempt fate?)  Anyway, point being, moving up in the world can only help your chances.  Just keep in mind that you’re looking at a hard cap of High Overlord, seeing as the only thing above that is Warchief, and we all know I’m not going anywhere for a long time.

Hope this helps.

 

Hey hey, Garry!  Wazzup, my man?

I just built myself a chopper and it’s hella rad. Damn, but I look kickass ridin’ that hog! Got the ladies all over me.  But then I thought I need some wicked cool tats to seal the deal, ya know what I mean?  So I was flippin’ through some mags for ideas and whoa!  Double page spread of Mr. Warchief-crush-your-head himself!  And I’m like, “Dayum, that’s some fine art right there.”  High five, buddy.

So… where’d you get your ink done?  I need a parlor that can capture my style, yo.

–Fizzpop “The Fizz” Clutchgear

Sup, Fizz.  First of all, before we go any further – I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again:

NotGarryOkay, now that that’s out of the way.

Glad to see that somebody appreciates the tattoos.  Oh, wait, lots of somebodies already do, of the female persuasion (see previous letter).  But still, thanks anyway.

I had most of my tattoos done in that little window of relatively-not-fucked-up time just after becoming Warchief and just before the Cataclysm.  They’re ceremonial markings from the Warsong clan, done by a Mag’har tattoo artist from Nagrand.  I actually had him recommended to me by blademaster Burzum.  He was always really helpful.  You know, before he went all snarly-sha-crazy.  But I digress.

I could put you in touch with the guy if you want to look him up.  If you ever find yourself in Garadar, look for Vanteg.  I hear he’s been in pretty high demand since word got out that he’d done the Warchief’s ink, so you might have to get on a waiting list.  Feel free to drop my name, though.  He might skip you ahead in line.  Either that, or he’ll figure you’re another one of the people who show up and lie about knowing me, in which case, you know, sucks for you.  Them’s the breaks.

 

Hail, Warchief!

Well, of course the Star-Tribune is biased. (Besides, I’m pretty sure that if you trace it through far enough, the Regent-Lord owns it.) That’s not the point. The official line has always been that the Regent-Lord is doing a fine, bang-up job. And, at least out loud and in public, everyone with an ounce of sense agrees. He’s not above having his guys straight-up mind-control people talking out of turn in public. For real-talk, you have to go to the shadowy dives off of Murder Row … and what’s new is that it’s getting harder to find dissent even there. It may be begrudged respect, but growing respect, nonetheless. People want to believe that the old Lor’themar is coming back, the man who used to be the Ranger-General’s second-in-command, the one who used to be … well, not completely useless. And perception can take on a reality all its own.

Then again, this may just mean that the magisters have started slumming, and everyone’s getting a helping of re-programming. It’d still have the same effect, and I’m not qualified to tell the difference.

–A Concerned Citizen

Hey, ACC.  Good to hear from you as always.

So hang on, let me make sure I have this straight.  You’re saying that Ponytail controls the media and information outlets in Silvermoon, is forcibly silencing dissent, and is subtly manipulating the population of his capital city into a hero-worshipping, glory-seeking, cult-of-personality bunch of jingoistic wahoos?

Hoo boy.  That’s not good news for anybody any way you cut it.

 

Warchief Garrosh Hellscream,

Sir,

I was out picking herbs today to mill for me inscription training.  It’s Father’s Day and I was picking Gromsblood, which got me to wondering … How do ye feel about having an herb that only grows in places tainted by fel magics be named after yer dad? And if it bothers ye, have ye ever thought of having it changed?

Sincerely,

–Kriann, Jr. Member, Explorers’ League

Hey, good to hear from you, Kriann.  On the other hand, kind of sounds like you might be a dwarf, in which case, fuck you, Kriann.  Anyway, thanks for writing.

So about the gromsblood.  I see where you’re going with the fel-tainted thing, but that’s never really bothered me.  For one thing, I usually just look at it as a name given to honor the awesomeness of my dad.  It’s actually pretty fitting, in a way.  Wherever there’s land infested with fel magic, wherever there are demons lurking about, there’s a little reminder of Grom, ready to give them the ol’ Mannoroth special.  I usually don’t read much more into it than that.

Also, the fact of the matter is, it’s not at all uncommon to have an herb named after a prominent figure.  There are tons of them.  You probably know about Khadgar’s whisker, for instance, and then there was Arthas’ tears until that stupid ballot initiative passed and renamed them to sorrowmoss, because spirits forbid we should offend the spirit of Arthas and make him cry even more.  But there are actually lots of other, more obscure ones that a lot of people haven’t heard about.  For instance:

Creeping Sylvanas – Sometimes called the Syl-vine-us, although that’s actually inaccurate since it’s not technically a vine.  This is a strange type of plant that’s created by herbicides.  You spray your garden and kill the weeds…and then a few days later, those hey-weren’t-those-dead weeds grow back in the form of creeping Sylvanas.  And start killing loads of other plants and turning THEM into creeping Sylvanas.  And then after a while they seem to settle down and mostly get along with most of the regular vegetables in your garden, only you can’t quite shake the sinking feeling that maybe they’re up to something that you can’t put your finger on.

Broxigar Thornbush – The only plant ever known to harm Sargeras.  Which is a weird distinction to keep track of, but I guess academics need something to do.  Anyway, when Sargeras first arrived on Azeroth, he started ranting on and on about “dark titan” this and “destruction is nigh” that – you know, like you do when you’re a cartoonish bad guy – and then in the middle of this, he pricked himself on one of these thornbushes, and started howling pathetically about “Ouch my finger owies ow OWW!”  Which kind of took the edge off the whole “fiery apocalypse” thing.  Kind of gives you an idea of why the dude lost, though.

Lor’themar Pansy – Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, this isn’t a reference to the actual guy, but to a plant.  As a general rule, if you see some frilly-looking flowers around somewhere, and you kind of recognize them, but you’re not sure what they’re called, so you’re all, “You know, those flowers.  From the place.  The red ones”?  Those are probably Lor’themar pansies.

Cairne Blossom – This plant used to grow all over the place in Mulgore until Magatha tricked me into pruning it all.  Oops.

Fordragon Lily – These tall, striking bulb plants were named for Bolvar Fordragon, since they used to grow all around his old outpost in the Dragonblight.  For some reason, right at the end of the Northrend campaign, they all withered and mutated into a strain of lichbloom.  I’ve never been able to figure that one out.  I tried asking Tirion about it once, and he just got all quiet.  Which is noteworthy because it was the only time in history that the words “Tirion” and “quiet” have ever appeared together in a sentence that didn’t also include the words “needs to be.”

Thrallvine – This stuff grows on the side of your house and pretty much just sits there being innocuous and not doing anything, other than making random passers-by yammer on about how awesome it is.  Then out of the blue it goes on a crazy growth spurt so everywhere you look, there it is, until you’re just goddamn sick of looking at it all the time.  I bet you could replace that shit with a way better plant that would make your house stronger and be nicer on the eyes to boot, but you’ll probably just wind up with a bunch of assholes bitching about it.  Also your landlord seems to have an inexplicable, unhealthy attachment to the stuff so you know they’d never let you get rid of it.

 

That’s it for this time around.  As always, keep those letters coming, and I’ll try to brighten your empty lives with my inspiring answers again soon.

Anger management

Posted in General, Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 7, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

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The other day I mentioned there being some meeting that Orphan Matron Battlewail wanted me to attend if I were serious about getting Gurtash.  She had me check in with Social Services, which is being run by some goblins these days.  Don’t ask me how that happened.  But they filled in a little more of the story.  They’ve got one of Ji Firepaw’s panda friends holding a kind of seminar on dealing with anger, and they’ve opened it up to anybody who wants to attend.  The only catch – well, other than the fact that this whole fucking waste of time is one huge catch in itself since WTF why do these fuckers keep acting like I’ve got some kind of fucking problem with my goddamn temper or some shit – is that they want all the attendees to have someone come with them, sort of a sponsor.  My first thought was to bring Malkorok, seeing as he’s technically my bodyguard and should be going places with me anyway, but then I got to thinking that this gig might not be the kind of thing that…well…let’s just say the purposes of the session might not be facilitated by having Malkorok in the room.

Plus, really, why do I need a bodyguard again?  Isn’t that kind of like getting a watch dog to guard your giant rabid wolverine?

So, bottom line, I got Mokvar to come with me.  Which also had the added benefit of…

 

Garrosh and Mokvar enter a room in which several chairs have been arranged in a circle.  At the far end of the room, a middle-aged pandaren woman is talking with Eitrigg.

GARROSH:  So, um, we’re here for the meeting?  Not sure we’ve got the right place.

The pandaren woman, all smiles, walks over to greet them.

PANDAREN:  Oh, no, you are in the right place, Warchief.  It is good to see you again.

GARROSH:  Yeah, you too.  We’ve met?

PANDAREN:  <laughs softly>  Yes, a few weeks back, but I will understand if you do not remember me.  You were meeting quite a few of us from the Wandering Isle that day.

GARROSH:  Ah.  Yeah.  And to be honest, no offense, most of you pandas still sort of blend together for me.

PANDAREN:  Are you saying my people all look alike to you?

GARROSH:  Actually not so much all look alike as there are like six variations I can recognize.

MOKVAR:  To be fair, I’m not sure we orcs are much better.

GARROSH:  True enough.  And the less said about the trolls the better.

MOKVAR:  Well, Vol’jin stands out some.

GARROSH:  Well yeah.  I was going to ask the other day, actually – did he have some work done?  He looks different.

MOKVAR:  I was wondering that too!  So I’m not the only one that noticed?

GARROSH:  Dude, he sprouted an extra toe on the backs of his feet.

MOKVAR:  Seriously?  That’s freaky as hell.

GARROSH:  I know, right?  <looks back to the pandaren woman>  Anyway…um…we can probably discuss this another time.

The woman smiles bemusedly.

PANDAREN:  In any case, Warchief, it is good to meet you more properly now.  <extends her paw>  I am Ben-Lin Cloudstrider.  I have been a student of meditation among our people for many years.  I look forward to sharing some of these techniques with you today.

GARROSH:  Yeah.  Great.  So listen, Ben, how long you figure this is going to take?

BEN-LIN:  The session shall take as long as it takes.

GARROSH:  Ah.  One of those.  Terrific.

MOKVAR:  So, Eitrigg, what are you doing here?

GARROSH:  Yeah, Eitrigg, you never struck me as having a temper.

EITRIGG:  I don’t really.  I’m not here for me; I’m sponsoring a friend.  He just hasn’t gotten here yet.

GARROSH:  Ah, okay.  Wait…hold on…a “friend”?  Please don’t tell me…

Tirion Fordring enters.

TIRION:  Ah, greetings, Warchief!  A pleasure as always to see you once again.  And doubly so, of course, for you, Eitrigg, my dear friend of many years.  Far too many days have passed since last we enjoyed each other’s company…

GARROSH:  <rubbing his forehead>  Dude, you just saw him a couple months ago.  I know.  I was there.

TIRION:  Perhaps!  Perhaps, good Warchief!  And perhaps indeed the calendar might insist that the interval has been short – but the spirit, my friend, the spirit tells me the time has been long!  For surely, good Garrosh, you know of those imes when the moments feel far longer than the clock might otherwise claim.

GARROSH:  <still rubbing his forehead>  All too well, Tirion…

MOKVAR:  Eitrigg, I’m still not sure I understand.  Tirion never struck me as very temperamental either.

Eitrigg, standing behind Tirion, makes a drinking motion with his hand.

Ah.  Got it.

BEN-LIN:  It appears more of our attendees are arriving.  I should introduce myself, if you will pardon me a moment.

Ben-Lin steps toward the door, where Lor’themar Theron enters, accompanied by Liadrin.  While Ben-Lin talks to them, Faranell enters and walks over to Garrosh and Mokvar.

GARROSH:  Hey, Doc.

FARANELL:  Hey.

MOKVAR:  You’re here for the meeting too, Edwin?

FARANELL:  Mmhmm.  As soon as I heard about this, I cleared my schedule for this afternoon.

MOKVAR:  I didn’t know you had anger issues.

FARANELL:  I don’t.

Faranell sits down and takes out a large bag of popcorn.

Lor’themar and Liadrin leave Ben-Lin and approach Garrosh et al.  Ben-Lin circles around and talks with Tirion and Eitrigg in the background.

MOKVAR:  Hey Liadrin.

LIADRIN:  Hello, Mokvar.  Edwin.  Warchief.

GARROSH:  Hey, Liadrin.  Who’s your friend?  Is he sponsoring you or something?

LOR’THEMAR:  You see?  YOU SEE?  This is EXACTLY what I was talking about!  Every time!  EVERY SINGLE TIME!  No matter HOW many damn times I meet them, the NEXT time it’s always “Oh, so who’s this guy?”

LIADRIN:  Now now, try to calm down, sir…

GARROSH:  Okay, standing corrected on who’s sponsoring who here.

LIADRIN:  This has been a long time coming, frankly.

GARROSH:  Yeah, fine, but seriously, who IS he?

LOR’THEMAR:  <shaking Garrosh violently>  I’M LOR’THEMAR THERON, YOU PEA-BRAINED, MOUTH-BREATHING OAF!  RULER OF SILVERMOON!  LEADER OF THE BLOOD ELVES!  I BUILT YOU A DAMN MANA BOMB TO COMMIT WAR CRIMES WITH, YOU IGNORANT VULGARIAN!

GARROSH:  <shoving Lor’themar back>  YOU’RE the vulgarian, you fuck!

FARANELL:  <munching on popcorn>  So much better than doing culture samples with Zinge.

LOR’THEMAR:  How DIFFICULT is it to remember WHO SOMEONE IS after you MEET THEM FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME?!

GARROSH:  Apparently VERY, when the someone in question isn’t frigging IMPORTANT enough to be REMEMBERED, Ponytail!

MOKVAR:  He blew up about this on our game the other day, actually.

LIADRIN:  I heard.

MOKVAR:  Has he been at it all this time?

LIADRIN:  More or less.  This is something he’s been bottling up for a while, really.

Ben-Lin returns to the group, with Tirion and Eitrigg close behind.

BEN-LIN:  If we might all find our seats.  The last few should arrive shortly.

Everyone settles into the chairs.

Good afternoon, all of you, and thank you for coming today.  I am Ben-Lin Cloudstrider of the Huojin Pandaren, and I will be conducting today’s session.  My people chose to join the Horde in large part because of our shared belief in confronting challenges directly, and it is in that spirit that I would like to commend each of you for coming here today.  By chosing to attend, you have demonstrated your recognition of an enemy of sorts within yourselves, and your resolve to face and defeat that enemy.

GARROSH:  Pfft, I don’t know about these people, but I got railroaded by the orphan matron.  Screw this personal-growth hippie bullshit.

LOR’THEMAR:  Same here.  <nods head toward Liadrin>  This one twisted my arm.

GARROSH:  Personally I think the whole thing is a load of crap.

MOKVAR:  Would it really kill you to just bite your tongue and humor people this one time?

LIADRIN:  <sighs>  I wonder what it would be like if some of our leaders were actually adults

BEN-LIN:  Ah.  I am sensing resistance from some of you.  This is unfortunate.  I hope you will come to see the merit of our activities as we go along.  Let us begin by each introducing ourselves and telling the group why we are here.

She turns to Faranell.

Let us begin with you.  Would you like to introduce yourself to the group, my friend?

FARANELL:  <tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth>  It would make my life complete.

BEN-LIN:  <unfazed>  Delightful.  Please go on.

FARANELL:  Yeah, fine.  Hey.  I’m Edwin.  Most of you already know that.  All of you, actually, so good use of time here.  Don’t mind me, I’m just here for the LOL’s.

BEN-LIN:  <blinks>  Ah.  I see.

She turns hesitantly and looks to Tirion.

And you, sir?

TIRION:  Thank you, Lady Cloudstrider, many thanks indeed, both for your gracious greeting and for your generosity in offering up your valuable time – time very much in demand, I have no doubt, among your people – in arranging this gathering for the benefit of all here.  And a great honor, and, indeed, blessing it is to find myself today amid this honored company, for as I look about the room I find my gaze met by the faces of many of the most esteemed of our respective peoples…

GARROSH:  Oh man.  He’s ON today…

TIRION:  And so, in keeping with your request, noble Lady Cloudstrider, allow me to introduce myself.  I am Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade, Knight of the Silver Hand, master of Mardenholde Keep, bearer of the secred Ashbringer—

GARROSH:  Murderer of Wills to Live…

TIRION:  —and I find myself here today among you at the recommendation of my dear friend, the noble and sage orc Eitrigg, who suggested this gathering might prove valuable to me, both for my personal growth and likewise in allaying the oft-expressed concerns of some number of my Argent colleagues, such as the hallowed Confessor Palteress and my personal aide, the noble Miss Daria L’Rayne…

The door to the room opens, and Hamuul Runetotem leans in.

HAMUUL:  Excuse me, is this the anger management seminar?

BEN-LIN:  Indeed it is, my friend.

HAMUUUL:  Ah, good.  I hope I’m not interrupting anything.

GARROSH:  Yes, you are, and thank goodness.

BEN-LIN:  Please come in.

Hamuul steps into the room, holding the door open, and waves outside.

HAMUUL:  Come on in, it’s the right place.

A nervous-looking Mylune enters.

BEN-LIN:  <glancing down at a clipboard>  Ah, you must be the two from Mount Hyjal.

HAMUUL:  Yes.  I’m Hamuul Runetotem, and this is my…colleague Mylune.

GARROSH:  Oh man.  Hide your kittens…

MYLUNE:  <perks up>  There are kittens?

GARROSH:  Oh yeah, loads of them in the Cleft of Kittens.

MYLUNE:  Ooh!  Ooh!  There’s a Cleft of Kittens?  Where’s that?

GARROSH:  Right at the southern end of the Valley of Ridiculous Hallucinations – it’s fucking ORGRIMMAR.  What the hell do you think this is?

MYLUNE:  <deflated>  Oh.  I thought there might be kittens…

HAMUUL:  Perhaps just as well, given your recent…episode.

MYLUNE:  <slumps her head and closes her eyes>  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

HAMUUL:  Mylune, we’ve already talked about your trying to block these things out.

MYLUNE:  No no, I’m not blocking it out!  Blocking what out?  See?  Happy face!  Happy face!  Oh, everything’s so wonderful and magical and whee!  And…and…

She looks around quickly and grabs up a small scorpion that’s skittering along the ground.

And ooh, hello Mr. Scorpid, aren’t you a tought little prickly darling!  <hugs the scorpion to her bosom>  Auntie Luney sure is happy to see you!  Yes she is!  Yes she—oww!  OWW!  Dammit, that stings like HELL, you stupid pinchy ASSHOLE!

Mylune throws the scorpion viciously against the wall.

It wasn’t even that cute!

GARROSH:  So… I take it that time in Mulgore wasn’t an isolated incident…?

HAMUUL:  Not as such.

MYLUNE:  Oh…oh no, no, no… I did it again!  <sobbing>  Why do I keep doing that?  <putting her hands over her face as the sobbing continues>

HAMUUL:  There there…

BEN-LIN:  It is all right.  You are among friends now.

GARROSH:  Well let’s not get carried away.

MYLUNE:  <rubbing one hand on her chest>  That still kind of stings a little, actually…

BEN-LIN:  We are here to help you.  Have you had other moments like this recently?

MYLUNE:  I…well…I was in Winterspring a few days ago…and there were these bunnies…and…and…

GARROSH:  Not so much with the bunnies anymore, I’m guessing.

MYLUNE:  I couldn’t help it!  I just wanted to pet them, and…  <rubs her chest again>  Okay, you know what?  I think that scorpion might have been venomous.

Hamuul sighs and starts casting healing spells on Mylune.

HAMUUL:  Seriously?  You have venomous scorpions just wandering around?

GARROSH:  Hey, I don’t usually figure people are going to go around rubbing them on their boobs.

MOKVAR:  Did you really have to give me that mental image?

GARROSH:  I mean we usually don’t have people around here showing that level of stupid.  And that’s even figuring how much time Dontrag and Utvoch spend here.

LOR’THEMAR:  Who?

GARROSH:  You’re better off not knowing.

LIADRIN:  Really, sir.

BEN-LIN:  Perhaps we should move on.  <turns to Lor’themar>  Let us turn to you now.  You are…?

LOR’THEMAR:  Ugh.  See?  SEE?  THIS is EXACTLY what I’m talking about!  I introduced myself to you not TEN MINUTES AGO!  But does anyone remember something like that?  NO!  OF COURSE NOT!

LIADRIN:  Sir, I think she was just asking you to—

LOR’THEMAR:  Don’t defend her, Liadrin!  People do this every damn day, and there’s always some excuse for them!  Either that, or it’s just “Oh, okay.  Lor’themar?  Whatever.”  YES, whatever.  It’s LOR’THEMAR!  LOR’THEMAR FUCKING THERON, Regent-Lord of Quel’Thalas!  That’s who I am!  Lor’themar!  Do you hear me?  All of you?  LOR’THE-FUCKING-MAR!  One of the only racial leaders on either side who hasn’t managed to make a complete cluster fuck of something yet, but does anyone remember?  NO!  NO THEY DON’T!

BEN-LIN:  Well then.  I was going to ask you why you are here, but I think you have already answered that.  So let us move on.  <turns to Garrosh>  And you, sir?

GARROSH:  Huh?  Oh, yeah.  <waves half-heartedly>  So yeah, Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde.  Son of Grom, slayer of Alliance, writer of EPIC VERSE, eater of lemon squares, yadda yadda.

HAMUUL:  Wait, he writes poetry?

MOKVAR:  He’s actually surprisingly good at it.

BEN-LIN:  And why have you come here today, my friend?

GARROSH:  Humoring the orphan matron, pretty much.  Didn’t we already cover this?  She basically said I needed to attend this thing before she would sign off on this orphan I was looking into maybe adopting.

LIADRIN:  Wait, what?

EITRIGGAdopting?

HAMUUL:  Oh spirits help us…

GARROSH:  WHY does everybody fucking react like that every time I mention this?  I talked about it on my blog, too, and all the commenters were like “Holy crap no!”

HAMUUL:  Wait, he blogs, too?

FARANELL:  <munching>  I so should have brought some ale for this.

Tirion passes Faranell a flask.

Oh, hey, thanks.

EITRIGG:  I thought we’d agreed you were going to hold off on the…  <makes a drinking motion with his hand>  …while we were here for the meeting.

TIRION:  Surely, friend Eitrigg, you would not deny me a simple bracing beverage before an undertaking that calls upon my resolve.

EITRIGG:  Now we both know the “liquid courage” excuse doesn’t hold here, Tirion.

GARROSH:  So hold up, you mean Highlord Paragraph here likes to retreat into the bottle, and goes all angry drunk and shit?

EITRIGG:  And sometimes ends up burning small animals as a result…

MYLUNE:  He WHAT?!

TIRION:  My fine and noble friend, I would remind you that the episode with the penguins was, in broad, strokes, an isolated incident, and—

MYLUNEPenguins?!

BEN-LIN:  Now you see, here we may have a fine instructive moment.  While we may all have our moments of anger, it is when we allow that anger to manifest in actions that we risk unleashing the worst upon the loved ones around us…

MYLUNE:  <fidgeting nervously and looking to Hamuul>  Pen…penguins!  What did he do to the penguins…?!

EITRIGG:  Suffice to say it involved a cane.

BEN-LIN:  And so, when you experience these moments, Tirion, you must remember to use your words.

GARROSH:  Wait, seriously?

TIRION:  Sage counsel indeed, good Lady Cloudstrider, and perhaps you are right, and I have been far too reticent…

GARROSH:  Fucking hell, do you realize what you’re DOING, lady?

MYLUNE:  He…he…he attacked the poor penguins with a cane?

EITRIGG:  Far better than the kittens got…

TIRION:  My dear Eitrigg, you know perfectly well that I take little pride in the unfortunate incident involving the, shall we say, premature feline incendiaries, and—

MYLUNE:  Incendi— you burned kittens?!

GARROSH:  Yeah, bet you’re glad we don’t have any here now, aren’t you?  Not safe to have them around Captain Shortfuse Longwind here.

MYLUNE:  <trembling with eyes growing large and dewy>  Hamuul, did you hear that?  He…he…the kittens…he…

Hamuul pulls a teddy bear out of his pack and dangles it in front of Mylune, who immediately snatches it up.

Oh oh oh what a cute cuddly fuzzy huggy tebby bear squee!

LOR’THEMAR:  Wow she’s unstable…

GARROSH:  Look in a mirror lately, blondie?  Who are you to judge?

LOR’THEMAR:  <jumping up and knocking his chair over>  Who am I?  WHO AM I?  LOR’THEMAR THERON, that’s who!  LOR’THE-FUCKING-MAR THERON!

LIADRIN:  Sir, really, you should try to—

LOR’THEMAR:  You stay out of this, Liadrin!  I’ve HAD IT with this walking jaw with a gym card acting like he doesn’t fucking KNOW me!

GARROSH:  I know you’ll snap in half nice and easy if you don’t figure out a way to ZIP it right quick, Hair-Care!

MYLUNE:  <swaying from side to side while hugging the tebby bear>  Oh don’t listen to them, Mr. Huggles, it’s okay, it’s okay!  You just be all sweet and snuggly and don’t worry about the mean people!

LOR’THEMAR:  Why don’t you MAKE me zip it!  Or do you need damn BOMB to drop on me for that?!

GARROSH:  I’ll SHOW you a fucking BOMB, Ponytail!

Garrosh lunges at Lor’themar and flings him violently against the wall.  Lor’themar pulls himself up and tries to rush back at Garrosh, only to have Garrosh grab him and put him in a headlock.  Mokvar and Liadrin pull at Garrosh’s arm to try to loosen his grip.

MOKVAR:  Really, boss, not helping your own cause here…

GARROSH:  Hope you weren’t too fond of that frigging OXYGEN, Lor’the-Whatever-the-Fuck-Your-Name-Is!

LOR’THEMAR:  <wrenching himself out of Garrosh’s hold and swinging at him wildly>  LOR’THEMAR!  MY NAME IS LOR’THEMAR!  SAY IT!  SAY IT!  SAY MY NAME, BITCH!

Mylune is still rocking back and forth, holding the tebby bear while trembling.

MYLUNE:  Now now don’t you let them upset you, Mr. Huggles…  <absently rips off one of the teddy bear’s ears>  It’s okay…it’s all okay… They’re not mad at you, no no, they’re not…  <rips off the bear’s other ear, sobbing>  It’s all going to be okay someday, I promise, Huggles, Auntie Luney promises…!

FARANELL:  <mouth half-full of popcorn>  I love this meeting so much I want to marry it and have a family of little caucuses.

LOR’THEMAR:  I’m SICK AND TIRED of being IGNORED by this damn GORILLA!

Mokvar and Liadrin try with mixed success to pull the two away from each other.

GARROSH:  Don’t worry, metro, you’ll be getting PLENTY of attention while I’m smearing you all over the floor!

LOR’THEMAR:  Stop holding him back!  I’m not scared of him!  I can take him!  Unless maybe he’s POISONED his DAMN AXE again!

GARROSH:  OH you will DIE EXTRA SLOW for—

Tirion jumps Garrosh and Lor’themar and pushes them away from each other.  He looks back and forth sternly.

TIRION:  Gentlemen, please!  Surely no one can benefit from our turning on each other in such a way.  Now then…  <looks back and forth between Garrosh and Lor’themar again>  Let’s have a drink.  And calm down.

EITRIGG:  <sighs>  Tirion…

BEN-LIN:  It occurs to me that perhaps our goals would be better served by a few one-on-one sessions before we attempt to discuss our issues in a group…

Mylune suddenly grabs Ben-Lin from behind and hugs her back against herself.

MYLUNE:  Ohhhh has anyone ever told you you’re like a big giant warm fuzzy snuggly teddy bear yourself, Miss Cloudy-bear?

BEN-LIN:  <looking around somewhat panicked, but cearly trying to maintain her composure>  So…with that in mind…let us adjourn for the day.  I will be in touch with each of you to arrange individual meetings.  We…we have much work to do…

LIADRIN:  Come on, sir, let’s just go back to Silvermoon…

Liadrin drags Lor’themar out of the room.  The others begin to make their way out as well, except for Mylune, who continues hugging Ben-Lin.

MYLUNE:  So huggly and cuddly and so so adorable!  I could just squeeze you all day, little bear!

Faranell gets up and walks over to Ben-Lin and Mylune on his way toward the door.

FARANELL:  So, I’m going to give you my contact info… Please, please tell me if there are any more of these meetings.  I will buy a ticket if I need to.

 

This has got to be some kind of a hazing thing.  Or Battlewail is doing some kind of weird trial to test my resolve, to see just how serious I am about the Gurtash thing.

Gotta tell you, though, if I have to go hang out with that crew again, I’m not sure I like even that kid enough…

More soon.

 

 

[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]

Monday mailbag

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

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

 

Dear Warchief,

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

–Karelien, Silvermoon City

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

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

 

Hey mon,

Do you know where Mankrik’s wife be at?

–Bob, Echo Isles

Oh, geez, this guy again.

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

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

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

 

Hey Warchief,

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

–Backstab Bladeflurry

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

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

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

No.

 

Dear Warchief,

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

–Gamon, Orgrimmar

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

Good luck not dying, though.

 

Dear Warchief Hellscream:

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

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

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

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

–Daria L’Rayne, Argent Crusade

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

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

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

 

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

Attack of the petting zoo

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

Okay, so we’ve established that something fishy is going on with these gear-toting animals, pretty much all over the place.  Since I brought up the issue earlier in the week, I’ve been getting reports flooding in from all quarters about animals carrying weapons and armor.  And then, a couple days ago, I had my bizarre and disturbing trip to the plateau in Mulgore where a zillion and one critters and zipping around with knives and helmets and…I don’t know, at this point I’m surprised they don’t have fucking rocket launchers or something.

I don’t much like the way this is going right within view of Thunder Bluff.  I also figured that with so much crazy-ass stuff going on with animals, it might be a good idea to check in with our own resident nature-boys, the druids.  So, I decided to kill two birds with one stone (and hope the metaphorical birds weren’t carrying, you know, metaphorical explosives armed with metaphorical dead-man’s switches) and bring this business to the attention of Thunder Bluff’s very own head-honcho druid, Hamuul Runetotem.

Hamuul was as disturbed by all of this as I was, and decided he wanted to check on things personally.  We flew over to the Critter Plateau of WTF earlier today, and seeing as this seemed like one of those “let’s keep a record of shit” occasions, I sent word to Orgrimmar for Mokvar to fly over and meet us there.

Apparently, before he left, Mokvar and the messenger I’d sent had a few go-rounds of “Why does Garrosh want me to fly out there again?”, “No, really,” “Seriously, what’s the actual reason?”, and so on.

Gotta be honest.  I don’t blame you one bit, Mokvar.

 

Hamuul Runetotem rejoins Garrosh and Mokvar after circling around the plateau in flight form.

GARROSH:  So, what’s the verdict, Hamuul?

HAMUUL:  Very peculiar…

GARROSH:  Wow, peculiar.  I’m glad I brought you in on this.  Keen insight right there, dude.

HAMUUL:  Clearly someone is tampering with the conduct of these creatures, though I’m at a loss to speculate as to who.

GARROSH:  Well, yeah, obviously they didn’t smith this stuff up themselves.

HAMUUL:  Indeed.

GARROSH:  So any other bright ideas about…  <looks up>  Hold up…

A brown and violet eagle flies up to the group and shapeshifts into Malfurion Stormrage.

GARROSH:  Wait – the hell?

HAMUUL:  Greetings, Shan’do.

MALFURION:  A pleasure as always, Hamuul.

GARROSH:  What is HE doing here?

HAMUUL:  I took the liberty of bringing this matter to the attention of certain allies.

GARROSH:  Uh, yeah, LITERALLY Allies.

MALFURION:  <nods to Garrosh>  Warchief.

GARROSH:  <nods back>  Antlers.

HAMUUL:  It would be a courtesy to address him by his actual name.

GARROSH:  Meh, Malfunction Stormface, Antlers McBeardyface, po-tay-to, po-tah-to, boo hoo.

HAMUUL:  <to Malfurion>  Probably the best we’re going to get.

MALFURION:  Good enough.

GARROSH:  Okay, so now that we’re all buddies and shit, do I get to find out why we’ve got one of the night elf leaders rolling on through Horde territory like it’s something to do?

HAMUUL:  I thought Master Stormrage might be of some aid in determining the cause of these unnatural developments.

MALFURION:  I can be on my way just as easily if you prefer.

GARROSH:  Yeah, whatever, fine, I’ll cut you some slack what with the whole Ragnaros thing.  I suppose you might have a good read on some of these animals, what with…you know…you practically being one and all.

MALFURION:  I’m a druid.  We all take on animal forms.

GARROSH:  Yeah, right I get that.  But…  <gestures toward the feathered wings on Malfurion’s arms and the bear paws he has for feet>  …you know…

MALFURION:  <sighs>  All right, one last time…

HAMUUL:  You don’t have to.

MALFURION:  No, it’s fine.  I get this all the time.

HAMUUL:  If you wish.

MALFURION:  As a result of the years my spirit dwelled within the Emerald Dream, I gradually took on the attributes of many of the creatures whose forms we druids assume.

GARROSH:  Yeah, but…dude, you’ve got paws.

MALFURION:  Yes, and?

GARROSH:  That doesn’t weird people out a little?  I mean, okay, I don’t really know how you night elves roll, other than, y’know, how you roll over dead after you get chopped up a little, but…

MOKVAR:  Sadly, this really is him on his good behavior.

GARROSH:  I’m serious!  Don’t you get sick of the “get your paws off me” jokes at home or whatever?

MALFURION:  <rolling eyes>  I’ll have you know, if anything, Tyrande really seems to go for—

HAMUULHush, Malfurion!

MALFURION:  …

GARROSH:  HAH!  Did you just shush him?  Because that’s kind of awesome.

HAMUUL:  <sighs>  The point.  Being.  Master Stormrage kindly offered his aid in determining what has been happening with these animals…

GARROSH:  Yeah, fine, whatever.  Let him help.  Are we going to have any more special guests showing up that I need to be warned about?

A giddy squeal can be heard in the distance, followed by the voice of…

MYLUNE:  Oh look at all the adorable bunnies!

HAMUUL:  Actually…

GARROSH:  You…didn’t.

Mylune prances past the others, excitedly racing after random rabbits and prairie dogs.

MYLUNE:  They’re just so cute and warm and soft and snuggly and squee!

GARROSH:  After last time?  Really?

MALFURION:  In Hamuul’s defense, she just happened by when he was explaining the situation to me.

HAMUUL:  She heard “rabbits and prairie dogs,” and, well, that was pretty much that.

GARROSH:  Okay, fine, let her do her thing.  Maybe she’ll fall down a rabbit hole or something.  In the meantime…

MYLUNE:  Oooh and cute little prairie dogs too!  Yay!

GARROSH:  …um…any other insights on what’s going on up here?

MALFURION:  Obviously the creatures are being armed by someone, but based on how these animals are reacting to us, they’re unaccustomed to a humanoid presence.

HAMUUL:  A druid, then, appearing in animal form?

MALFURION:  Most likely.  Not any affiliated with us, though, I can’t imagine.

Mylune continues scampering around the plateau, chasing assorted critters and emitting happy squeals at frequencies only occasionally perceptible to the orcish ear.

GARROSH:  Well riddle me this, Antlers.  How do I know some of your Alliance buddies aren’t behind this?

MALFURION:  Warchief, I could try to hide behind some sort of sweeping statement of principle, but even setting that aside, look around.  If the Alliance were going to encroach on Horde territory, do you really believe this is the best idea they could come up with?

GARROSH:  Point.

MALFURION:  The Alliance leadership may be many things, but they’re not idiots.

MOKVAR:  You’ve met Varian, right?

Mylune grabs at a rat, which wriggles around in a desperate, ill-fated attempt to escape her grasp.

MYLUNE:  Oh no no no, Mr. Sneaky Rat, you don’t get away that easy, silly thing!  You mousey-faces need love too!

GARROSH:  By the way, did she miss the part about them being, you know, armed and shit?

HAMUUL:  I’m fairly sure she just hears “cute animals,” and the rest becomes something of a blur.

A few prairie dogs gather up closer to Mylune, while a group of rabbits hop over to her.  One bounces up into her hands, which sets off a torrent of joyful squealing.

MYLUNE:  Ohhhhh I love you too, little bunny rabbit!

She squeezes the rabbit against her, only to have it bounce free.  While she tries to regain her grasp on the rabbit, some of the other critters gather around closer to her.

MYLUNE:  No no, Mr. Bunny, I’ve got— ooh careful with your teeth there, Mr. Bunny, those are a little sharp—!  But don’t worry, I won’t drop— eek!  Careful, little bunny, you really have some choppers, hee hee!

GARROSH:  Um, is it my imagination, or are they…?

Several critters gather around Mylune, and, while she tries to resume hugging her original rabbit, a second rabbit hops up onto her shoulder and starts weakly swinging at her neck with the tiny axe it carries in its mouth.

MYLUNE:  Now settle—ouch!—settle down, silly little Bunny-Pants, Auntie Luney—oof!!—Now stop that, you little cutie-pie!

Some of the prairie dogs run in close to Mylune’s hooves and start jabbing at her with their tiny daggers.

MYLUNE:  Noooo, silly little—eek!—little fuzzy-wuzzies!  OUCH!  No, that hurts!  You don’t want to hurt—AAH!—to hurt Autie Luney, do you?  <skipping around, trying to keep her legs clear of the prairie dogs>  No, don’t!  Aunie Luney—ooh!—Auntie Luney just wants to love you!

A trio of rats start shooting BBs at Mylune with their miniature rifles.  The prairie dogs scampering around her feet are joined by additional mini-axe-carrying rabbits.

MALFURION:  I tried to warn her about forcing her affection on woodland creatures…

HAMUUL:  Mmhmm.

MYLUNE:  <tilting her head to avoid the weak swings of the rabbit on her shoulder>  No!  No, bunny!  Stop!  Please—EEP!—please, fuzzies!

GARROSH:  Gotta say, I knew something bad was going to happen to her.

MYLUNE:  <sobbing>  No!  You’re too—AAH! your teeth really are sharp, bunny—!  Ooh!  You’re too cute and sweet and—ugh!—and loveable to be mean like—like— OWW!!!  <grabs the rabbit hopping at her chest and pulls it away>  That fucking HURTS, you carrot-sucking son of a BITCH!  <glares down at the rabbit in her hands>  I try to be nice to you motherfuckers and this is the thanks I get?!  Well FUCK THAT!

Mylune flings the rabbit away – narrowly missing Garrosh’s head – then grabs the axe-carrying rabbit on her shoulder.  Seizing it by its ears, she whips it around in an arc in front of her and slams its body into a nearby tree.

MYLUNEI’ve HAD IT with this shit!  YOU COCKSUCKERS FUCKED WITH THE WRONG FUCKING NYMPH!

GARROSH:  <turning quizzically to Hamuul and Malfurion>  Um…

MYLUNEYou wanna fucking go?  OKAY, WE’LL FUCKING GO!

Mylune kicks a nearby prairie dog off into the distance, then stomps on another as she brings her hoof back down.

MYLUNE:  <grabbing a rabbit in one hand, a rat in the other>  How do you like me NOW, assholes?!  <smashes the rabbit and rat together, head first>  HOW DO YOU FUCKING LIKE ME NOW?!

MOKVAR:  Is it wrong that I’m actually finding this kind of hot?

GARROSH:  Don’t make me put a talking ban on you too.

Mylune tramples a group of prairie dogs that have been stabbing ineffectually at her legs, then snatches up a rat.  She whips the rat around in circles by its tail, lashes it through a pack of critters, then launches it into the air beyond the edge of the plateau.

MYLUNE:  <glaring around at the remaining critters>  ANYBODY ELSE WANNA BE A FUCKING HERO?

A handful of rats shoot more BBs at Mylune, who runs over and tramples them into the ground.  Several rabbits start to regroup behind her; she turns on them and glares.

MYLUNE:  ANY OF YOU FUCKING PRICKS MOVE, AND I’LL EXECUTE EVERY MOTHINGFUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU!  <looks around side to side, breathing hard with fists clenched>  Yeah, that’s right!  KING KRUSH AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME!!

Garrosh turns to Hamuul and Malfurion and appears to start talking a few times before actually uttering the words.

GARROSH:  So…that was unexpected.

HAMUUL:  You might think.

MALFURION:  You have no idea how much money is going to change hands over this back at Nordrassil.

HAMUUL:  I had her for August, myself.

MALFURION:  Ah, pity.  So close.

GARROSH:  Wait, you mean you guys…you know what?  Never mind.  Let’s not even.

MALFURION:  Suffice to say there are those who’ve…had their concerns.

MYLUNE:  Oh shut your fucking pie hole, Mal!  <looking around at the scattering critters>  Yeah!  Yeah!  You BETTER run! I…  <breathing starts to slow to normal>  See what you…

Mylune closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then looks around slowly at the scattered critter bodies.

MALFURION:  And here we go.

MYLUNE:  Oh…oh no… Oh, no, no, no…  <rubbing her hands over her hair, then covering her face>  No, no, oh Goddess no no no, not again

GARROSH:  Hang on, did she—

HAMUUL:  Just don’t.

Mylune looks around sadly, whimpering more and more incoherently, and starts to cry uncontrollably while slumping down onto the ground.

MYLUNE:  No, no, nooo…

MALFURION:  <to Hamuul>  Shall we?

HAMUUL:  We may as well.

Hamuul and Malfurion walk over to Mylune and help her to her feet.

MALFURION:  There, there…

GARROSH:  I should probably let you guys focus on…you know.

HAMUUL:  I can fly ahead and tell Cenarius to clear his afternoon.

MALFURION:  Probably for the best.

MYLUNE:  <sobbing weakly>  Mr. Thumper, I’m sorry…!

 

Okay, so, um…yeah.

I’ve got a few ideas on where to turn next in all of this, but first…yeah… I think I need a drink.

Actually, I think I need several.

Actually, I think I need a brewery.

Back later.

 

Go ahead.  Make her day.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

Thunderlord Stronghold

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

While I’m here in Outland, I figured I would make a few stops and see what’s been going on out here since I left for Azeroth.  Today I flew up to Thunderlord Stronghold in Blade’s Edge Mountains today and paid a visit to Rexxar.  I knew Rexxar mostly by reputation before he moved out here years ago, and we ended up meeting briefly a couple times before I wound up making the move to Azeroth to take charge of the Northrend campaign.  He remembered me well enough, although it would be nice if I could maybe meet him at some point and have him refer to me some way other than “Oh yeah, Grom’s kid.”

I tried floating the idea of him coming back to Orgrimmar with me and taking a position as an advisor, but he wasn’t interested in leaving Blade’s Edge or getting himself tangled up in politics.  Can’t really blame him on that one.  I think he told Thrall the same once before, which I can respect, although it’s kind of a waste for as big a badass as him to just be hanging out here in the middle of nowhere.

Mostly, though, we ended up talking animals.  Pretty much as soon as I got there, Rexxar’s bear Misha took a liking to Mortimer, and the two of them spent most of the day chasing each other around playing.  Which got Rexxar and I talking about them, and if you know people who have pets – or are one yourself – you know what happens when you get two pet people together.  Worse than people with kids…not least of all because people who have kids don’t really give a shit about what the other people have to say about theirs.  They mostly just nod politely until it’s their turn to talk about their own little snot-nose.  Pet people, though, they just eat up each other’s stories, and they’ll yammer on all day if you let them.  Poor Gor’drek and Nekthar made themselves pretty scarce pretty fast.

Funny story, though – turns out, while Rexxar was still living in Kalimdor and wandering around in Feralas and Desolace, somehow or other he ran into that forest nymph Mylune.  Which is never a good thing when you’re traveling with a furry animal.  So…I’m sure you can fill in this part…she right off started getting all grabby and huggy with Misha.  But here’s where it gets great – Misha would have none of that shit, and after she went and ignored a “You might not want to do that” from Rexxar, the bear fucking MAULED her.  HAH!  So we had a good old time comparing fail-notes on that nutjob.

Also talked a little to Tor’chunk Twoclaws (yeah, that really is the dude’s name, and yeah, I feel for him too) (*chortle*), who tells me the ogre troubles they used to have up there have quieted down a lot the last couple years.  Seeing as we always had all kinds of headaches with the ogres down in Nagrand, I’m always kind of interested in how people in other areas have been getting on with the fat fuckers.  According to Tor’chunk (honestly, not trying to be mean, but I just can’t get past that name), the Bladespire ogres up there recognized a new king a ways back – something about someone gaining the blessing of Ogri’la, which the Bladespires talk about like some mysterious, mystical place even though it’s right there on the fucking maps.  Since then they seem to have calmed down a lot.  I’m kind of curious about this, to tell you the truth, so I might have to swing by and introduce myself to this new king guy, one leader to another.  Because I’m nothing if not a smooth diplomat.

 

 

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

Monday Mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 16, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

mail26

Don’t forget to make your last-minute suggestions for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge this week!  The last installment was the Sylvanas poem from Friday, so be sure to put your ideas in the comments there.  In the meantime, let’s have a look at this week’s mail…

 

Dear Warchief,

Since you’ve shown an interest in this week’s Noblegarden activities, I thought you might want to know about some rather…strange events going on around them.  Down here in Bloodhoof Village, many of us have been engaging in the traditional egg hunts.  As you probably already know, some of those eggs are magical, and when gathered they spawn several bunnies.  So fairly early on in the holiday season, the village ends up being filled with dozens of these little rabbits, hopping around all over the place and going about their business.

That much is fine, it’s part of the holiday and we don’t mind the rabbits at all.  The problem is that this year, we’re having an extra, unexpected guest whom we weren’t expecting.  A few days into Noblegarden, the forest nymph Mylune, whom I think you’ve met, showed up unannounced and…well…just started going nuts.  Not violent nuts or anything, she just saw all the bunnies and flipped.  She’s been scampering around the village hugging as many rabbits as she can herd together, talking baby talk to them, and squealing on and on every time she sees more of them.

She’s not bothering anyone, really, just minding her own bunny-hugging business, and I can’t say she’s doing any harm.  We tauren generally are on good terms with the dryads, so I don’t think we’re going to have any real trouble with her.  It’s just…really weird.  So I thought you might want to know what was happening.

–Maur Raincaller, Bloodhoof Village

Huh.  Well, Maur, as long as she’s not actually causing any real problems, this might be one that we just let sit.  Not to stick you guys with her charming company down there in Bloodhoof Village, but honestly?  After last time, I’m not going anywhere near that chick.  You should be fine, the holiday’s over now so she’ll probably go home soon enough, just make sure your newbie druids down there don’t try shifting into animal forms while she’s around.  And you might want to tell any hunters you’ve got to keep their distance if they have pets.  Oh and also, it might be a little inconvenient, I know, but you might want to give your windrider master a day or two off and just close down the flight path.  I know from experience the wyverns probably aren’t going to get a lot done while she’s around, and your flight master will probably appreciate being spared the headaches.  And possible bosom-clasp bruises.

 

Hey mon,

How come people always be makin’ a big deal about dese death knights?  I be pwnin’ dem down here in de Echo Isles ever since dey started seein’ dey trainers here.

–Bob, Echo Isles

Um, okay, first of all, idiot, there ARE no death knight trainers in the Echo Isles.  There aren’t any baby death knights running around the junior league training areas like Echo Isles or Razor Hill or whatever.  Because – NEWS FLASH, dimwit – all the death knights in the Horde are former Knights of the Ebon Blade, who were turned into death knights by Arthas back in the day, so the ONLY place they can train is in their own damn floaty city out in the Eastern Plaguelands.  Which you would KNOW if you didn’t have your head jammed so far up your ass that you don’t have any fucking idea what’s going on AROUND you.

Which brings me to my next point.  Dude, what the fuck is up with you?  Seriously.  Every few weeks I get some letter from you where you’re asking about some shit that absolutely anybody with a brain already knows, and half the time you’ve got something cringe-inducingly WRONG, so like, really, what’s your deal?  Did you just get dropped on your head like eight thousand times?  Did you, Dontrag, and Utvoch draw straws to see who got how much of the one brain you’ve got between you all, only you wound up with nothing because you lost focus and stuck your straws in your nose and started cracking yourself up making walrus noises?  Or did you put on a bear suit for who the fuck knows what reason, then made the bad decision to drop by Hyjal, and next thing you knew that aforementioned prancy head case Mylune ran up and started squeezing you till she literally made you shit your brain right out?  Because I’m really trying to figure you out, and I’m not coming up with much of anything other than something like that.

I tell you, I give Vol’jin a lot of crap, but spirits help him if this is the kind of wall-to-wall hired help he’s got to choose from down there.

 

Dear Garrosh,

I’m not quite sure how to begin, or even if you would want to hear from me.  I’m sorry that I haven’t tried to contact you until now.  I hope that in the end you’ll understand why.

When the red pox tore through our people in Nagrand, you and I were both afflicted, like most of the rest of the Mag’har.  It was probably so long ago that you barely even remember it, if you do at all.  I remember it well.  I remember how sick you became.  But I knew you would make it through.  Even then, you were strong.  You were always so strong.

Eventually the healers of Garadar began to cure our people of the red pox.  Bit by bit, our little forgotten village began to recover.  My symptoms, though, continued undiminished, no matter what our shamans did.  Worse yet, in a few cases, those who had been cured found themselves reinfected after being around me, only this time with symptoms that were far more severe, and resisted all attempts at treatment.  Almost without exception, they died.

I, on the other hand, lived on, suffering but alive, as if the pox and I were locked in a stalemate: me too strong to die, the disease too strong to fade.  The shamans decided that somehow I had become a carrier for a far more virulent strain of that hateful disease.

In time, Garadar recovered, and I was the only one left, with no end to the pox in sight.  More and more, those who came close to me found themselves infected.  And more and more quickly, those who fell infected would die.

In time I decided that I could not remain a burden to our people.  I exiled myself from the Mag’har, taking up shelter in a small hovel hidden away in the mountains near the Ancestral Grounds.  When time and illness finally took me, I thought, at least I would be close to our sacred place.  Perhaps the spirits would help guide me to the next life.

I disappeared quietly one night.  At my urging, Greatmother Geyah told the village that the pox had finally taken me.  In the eyes of Garadar, I had died.  Only a handful of the elders knew the truth.

Years passed.  The pox carried on unabated.  So did I.  All the while, I watched from afar as best I could.  I watched as the demons’ hold on our once-beautiful world waned.  I watched as the Mag’har slowly regathered themselves.  And I watched you, Garrosh.  I watched you grow up, strong as you always were, a man before your years, denied the luxury of a childhood.  And I watched you live in a self-made purgatory forged of your father’s sins.

It broke my heart.

Years more passed, and you left Draenor to pursue a new life.  A better life, I prayed.

Then, not long ago, a group of healers found me in my mountain refuge.  I did not know them, and their garments were of a make unfamiliar to me.  They were not of the Mag’har, some not even orcs.  I do not know how they knew to find me, but they claimed to have new medicines from the world the orcs had taken up as their new home.  While they could not offer a cure, they claimed they could contain the pox enough to prevent its spread.  Under their treatment, the disease would no longer be airborne, only contagious by contact.  A small comfort, but now at least, they said, the pain of the disease need not be compounded by the misery of solitude.

In time, I decided to risk revealing myself.  I returned to Garadar, to the welcoming embrace of Greatmother Geyah.

In the days since my return, she has updated me on much that has transpired in my absence.  The war, the internment, the demise of Mannoroth and the lifting of the blood haze.  But most of all she told me of you.  Strong and proud.  A hero of a faraway war, fought against the icy talons of death itself.  A leader of men, and now, Warchief of our people.

I do not wish anything from you, Garrosh.  I have decided to reach out to you now only that you might finally know the truth, and know that I am so very, very proud of you.  Do honor to our people and lead them well.  As I always have, in this life or the next, I will be watching over you.

Love always, my Garrosh,

–Lakkara, Nagrand

Um…

<blink>

<stare>

…Mom?

Orc Lemon Squares

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

cake

Today’s entry for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge!  This one is inspired by a repeated suggestion from the last few days, involving my Greatmother’s famous (previously secret) recipe, and the meddling tree who publicized it and forced me to institute whole new culinary policies a while back.  Remember to make suggestions for next time in your comments!

 

Edenvale.

Edenvale –
She’s a tree.

Edenvale –
Don’t you see?
Edenvale’s a tree,
I see.

Edenvale,
She had a scare –
She saw Garrosh
Over there.

“Oh no!  Garrosh!”
Cried the tree.
“Please don’t kill me!
Let me be!

I’m your friend!
Yes!  I swear!
Please don’t kill me,
Garrosh-There!”

“Don’t you fret
Your sappy head!
I won’t kill you,”
Garrosh said.

“No?  You won’t?”
“Oh no,” he said.
“Or you already
Would be dead!”

“Oh,” she said,
The silly tree.
“Then, what do you want
With me?”

He came closer,
Garrosh-There.
And he said,
“I’m here to share.”

“Here to share,
Garrosh-There?”
“Here to share,”
Said Garrosh-There.

“Are you okay?”
Asked the tree.
“That doesn’t sound like you,”
Said she.

“Yeah, I know.
It kind of sucks.
But I figure,
What the fuck.

Greatmother says
I should share –
I should share
Her lemon squares.

So since Greatmother
Says to share,
I will try,”
Said Garrosh-There.

“So,” he said,
And gave a glare,
“Would you like
Some lemon squares?”

Edenvale looked nervous,
True.
She didn’t know
Quite what to do.

“Oh,” she said,
And held her nose.
“I really don’t want
To impose.”

“No, it’s fine,
They must be eaten.
Here, try one.
Or you’ll get beaten.”

“No, that’s okay,
None for me.”
“What’s the problem,
Stupid tree?”

“Well,” she said
To Garrosh-There.
“Well,” she said,
And looked quite scared.

“I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”

“Would you like them
Here or there?”

“I would not like them
Here or there.
I would not like them
Anywhere.
I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”

“Would you like them
In your home?
Would you like them
With a gnome?”

“I would not like them
In my home.
I would not like them
With a gnome.
I do not like them
Here or there.
I do not like them
Anywhere.
I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”

“Would you eat them
On a boat?
With a Naaru
Or space-goat?”

“I would not eat them
On a boat.
I’d simply give them
To the goat.
I do not want them
In my home.
I will not try them
With a gnome.
I do not want them
Here or there.
I do not want them
Anywhere.
I just don’t like
Orc lemon squares.
I just don’t like them,
Garrosh-There!”

“Would you, could you,
Might, may, will,
Try them up
In Teldrassil?”

“I would not, could not eat them there!
In Teldrassil, or anywhere!
I do not want them on a boat.
I will not share with some space-goat.
I do not want them in my home.
I do not want them with a gnome.
I do not want them here or there,
I do not want them anywhere!
I do not like orc lemon squares!
I do not like them, Garrosh-There!”

“How about
A doggy bag?
Served by Utvoch
And Dontrag?”

“Enough already!”
Cried the tree.
“Garrosh-There,
You let me be!”

“Would you try them
On the moon?
With Cenarius
And Mylune?”

“No, I would not
On the moon!
Even if they brought
Elune!”

“Would you try them,
Just once, ever,
Up amid
The Twisted Nether?”

“No! No! Not in the Nether!
I do not want to try them, ever!
Not in a bag! Not on the moon!
Not with Dontrag or with Mylune!
Not on a boat! Not in my home!
Not with a goat! Not with a gnome!
I will not try them here or there!
I do not want them ANYWHERE!
I do not like orc lemon squares!
I just don’t like them, Garrosh-There!”

“You don’t like them.
So you say.
Try them! Try them
And you may.
Try them and you may,
I say.”

“Garrosh, dammit!
Fine, at last.
I’ll try them –
Just get off my ass.

Say…
I like orc lemon squares!
I do! I like them, Garrosh-There!
And I would eat them in my home!
And I would eat them with a gnome!
And I would have them on a boat,
And I would share with a space-goat!
I would eat them to my fill
All the way to Teldrassil!

I would take a doggy bag
(But spare me Utvoch and Dontrag)!
I would eat them on the moon,
With Cenarius and Mylune!
Yes, I will eat them here and there!
Oh, I would eat them anywhere!

I do so love
Orc lemon squares!
Thank you,
Thank you,
Garrosh-There.”

“See, I told you,”
Garrosh said.
“Plus you’re lucky
You’re not dead.”

“They’re so good!
So good, I say!
I might post them!
Yes I may!
I’ll post them on my blog,
I say!”

“Hold on a minute,
Silly tree.
That’s my Greatmother’s
Recipe.
Her recipe,
You silly tree.
We keep it
In the family!”

“But oh, they’re so good,
Garrosh-There!
They’re just too yummy
Not to share!
I’m sure your Greatmother
Won’t care!
I’ll spread her secret
Everywhere!

Now don’t get mad,
Garrosh! Relax!”

But he had gone
To get his axe.

 

EPIC VERSE!

Songs of Innocence and XP

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 3, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

mylune3

My first product of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge!  I ended up deciding that this entry would work better as TWO poems working as a set, rather than one. I’ll be working on something new for Thursday, so be sure to give me suggestions in the comments to this post (and obviously feel free to leave actual COMMENT comments too).  So, here we go…

 

The Dryad

Dryad girl, who made thee?
Do you know who made thee?
Who made thee such damaged goods,
Hugging bunnies in the woods?
Made thee DEHTA’s poster girl,
Snuggling puppies till I hurl?
Filled your head with flowers and fluff,
Blind to when enough’s enough;
Dryad girl, who made thee?
Do you know who made thee?

Dryad girl, I’ll tell thee;
Sister, let me tell thee,
Whosoever, ’twas a dick
Who beat you with that nutjob stick.
Took your love of creatures, heaven,
Dialed it right up to eleven;
Firing my exasperation.
With bosom-clasped concatenation.
Dryad girl, release me.
Shut up and release me.

 

The Dyad

Dontrag!  Utvoch!  Deadly dumb,
Endless yapping flapping gums:
What misguided hand or eye
Could frame thy dim stupidity?

By whose diagrams were cast
Your dingy minds, always half-assed?
In what furnace of the dull
Was forged the cogwheels in your skulls?

Whose confounded bright idea
To give you verbal diarrhea?
Strength of thought and length of verse:
That relation is inverse.

Edgewise word was never got,
And no clue have e’er you bought.
Faithful, true, and proud to serve;
But oh the cost: my final nerve.

Rock and hard place, woe the choice
Between yours and the dryad’s voice.
Dammit, I might go with hooves:
The dryad has, but you are boobs.

Dontrag!  Utvoch!  Deadly dumb!
Headaches rise like pounding drums.
What misguided hand or eye
Would hire thy dim stupidity?

 

EPIC VERSE!

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