Archive for noblegarden

Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge: EPIC VERSE live blog

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2013 by Garrosh Hellscream

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Those of you who were reading the blog last year at this time will remember Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – when, in honor of National Poetry Month, I called upon my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS to give me suggestions for a whole slew of EPIC VERSE masterpieces.  You all stepped up to the plate (well, those of you who were here at the time…and for those of you who weren’t, WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?), and we had a month full of EPIC VERSE goodness.

This year, as I announced a couple weeks ago, I’m continuing the Poetry Challenge tradition with a live blog.  Yes, that’s right, it’s the SECOND ANNUAL Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – sure to be an annual tradition for years and years to come.

For tonight’s lyrical explosion of spontaneous awesomeness, I’m once again calling on you all to inspire your Warchief.  Here’s how this is going to work: when this post goes live, you’re all invited to use the comments to post your ideas and suggestions – you can give topics, themes, characters, turns of phrase, ANYTHING you think might make for a good starting point to give me ideas for what I’m going to write.  (Try to keep your suggestions here in the comments, rather than Twitter/Facebook/wherever, so your fellow readers and I can see them all in one place.)

Starting at 8:00 PM EDT, I’ll begin the live blog by adding to this post.  At that point, I’ll start composing a new EPIC VERSE masterpiece (or masterpieces?) based on the suggestions you’ve given.  Feel free to keep offering new ideas as we go along – I might incorporate new suggestions into the poem I’m writing, or maybe use them for ANOTHER new poem before the night is out.  We’ll just see how it goes.  In any case…once the live blog has started, keep refreshing this page.  I’ll be adding to the post incrementally as I write, and you’ll get to watch your Warchief’s latest EPIC VERSE composed right before your eyes, in progress.

Kind of like getting to see how the sausage gets made.  If the sausage was made from the ground meat of the SUPER AWESOME UBER-BEAST RAISED IN THE PARADISE FIELDS OF GENIUS AND FED A STEADY DIET OF SOLIDIFIED PERFECTION AND BADASSERY.

*  *  *  *  *

Okay, kids, the show’s about to begin.  I’m going to take a moment and take a look at what we’ve got for suggestions so far, and maybe give the latecomers a minute or two to get their initial suggestions in before I get rolling.  Keep the ideas coming as we go, and I may still work them in as I’m able…

Remember, keep refreshing this page to watch the live blog unfold in progress.

*  *  *  *  *

The Dontrag and the Utvoch came
To celebrate the season,
And brought such pain to any brain
Imbued with any reason.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch asked
The Warchief for permission
To undertake — for sure, half-baked —
A Noblegarden mission.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch told
The Warchief of their plan:
To gather eggs from hopping legs
That bounced around the land.

The Warchief, for his part, approved,
And told them to proceed.
(He thought, of course, the only source
For this could be felweed.)

The Dontrag and the Utvoch ran
Across the Four-Winds Valley,
And high and low sought eggs to go
Into their final tally.

Then near a burrow, D&U
Saw wrigglin’ and squirmin’,
When to the ground, with mighty bound
Leapt out a giant virmen.

The Dontrag cried, “Move fast, Utvoch!
Don’t let it run off!  Grab it!”
For sure, he thought, they had just caught
The Noblegarden Rabbit.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch pounced
And lunged with all their might —
Though in no story was their quarry
Such a daunting height.

They found the Rabbit’s fury one
That not a one surpasses,
So by the end, their hoppy friend
Had badly kicked their asses.

The Warchief, when the pair returned,
Was unsure, sad or funny,
Which best to say, to know that they’d
Been beat on by a bunny.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch mused,
“At least we didn’t die.”
And down they sat on asses fat
And dined on humble pie.

EPIC V—

That was weak.

The FUCK?  Who the hell is this?!

What, you still don’t recognize me, Hellscream?  I thought you were good at spotting me online now.

Wait, don’t tell me this is—  Hang on.

SPAZZLE!

What’s up, boss?

The likelihood of me drop-kicking your green ass back to the Lost Isles, for starters.

That’s it.  Throw another hissy fit and alienate even more of your own people.  That’s a formula for success.

Oh…oh no.  Don’t tell me Varian broke into the blog again.

OH I’M TELLING YOU EXACTLY THAT, MOTHERFUCKER

Have you considered anger management classes, by the way?

What the hell happened to the SECURITY thingywhatsises you were supposedly building into the blog, like, FOREVER ago?

Ugh.  It must be that wireless connection you have down there.  I TOLD you Grizzle didn’t know how to set up a reliable network above the level of aluminum cans and some string.

Goddammit.  Well try to get him out of here, will you?  I’ve got a live blog to do.

You mean this exhibition of fail?  Hah.  I couldn’t pass up the chance to look in a watch you make an even bigger jackass of yourself than usual.

Hey, don’t be jealous just because I actually know how to string a few words together, human.

Actually, you know what?  Go ahead and be jealous of that.  Also of all the fans I have, who’ve turned out to bask in the brilliance (BACK ME UP HERE, PEOPLE).  And, oh yeah, of how much smarter and better-looking and all-around more awesome I am.

Hellscream, I haven’t done any writing since I was a kid—

I notice you’re not counting your own blog there.

—but even I could do better than these dimwitted nursery rhymes you’re spewing out.

You know what, asshole?  YOU’RE ON.  Let’s see what you’ve got.

CUE THE AMBIGUOUSLY THIRD-PERSON LEAD-IN!

*  *  *  *  *

EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

GARROSH HELLSCREAM

VS.

VARIAN WRYNN

BEGIN!

*  *  *  *  *

Come on, bring it, Hellscream – hope you’re ready to lose.
I’m pretty sure a basic campfire could rhyme better than you.
I’m the king!  The boss!  I was born to rule!
Thrall took his Doomhammer and left the orcs with a tool.
While I was ruling orc arenas with my wolf-god-modding
You were a whiny emo bitch busy whining and sobbing.
I’ll crush you, Garrosh, and add it to our duel triple feature
’Cause I’m the High King – you’re just a substitute teacher.

I’ve got no time for your Alliance propaganda,
Gonna beat you down so hard you’re gonna think I’m a panda.
You’re facing Garrosh, Lo’gosh – I was put here to pwn ya.
My dad killed Mannoroth; yours got ganked by Garona.
So the Warchief will pour grief and settle some scores:
I’m taking the lok’tar, all the ogar is yours.
No “either/or” in the fate that you deserved:
Crushed beneath the Horde – AND the one getting served.

Sure, hide in daddy’s shadow – I knew you’d bring up Grom,
I don’t remember that he ever had to use a mana bomb.
You’re on your own now, worried yet?  ’Cause your lackeys you’re lackin’ –
You’re not getting bailed out now by your magnataur and kraken.
I’m coming with a gag order, I’ve had more than enough,
You’re so much talk, even your howling axe won’t ever shut up.
You’ve got a skull that’s all tiny, and your jaw’s extra large –
Between your mouth and your brain, I guess that shows who’s in charge.

You’re one to talk jaws, Chin-Boy, yours could carve out a mogu,
I’d call you Scarface but you’ve got no friends to say hello to.
Your scars and fail and ponytail – you’re like Lor’themar Lite.
I’ll bake your pride in lemon squares: here, swallow both in one bite.
You’re defensive, apprehensive; I’m offensive, gone berzerker –
I bet Tiffin cut you off, that’s why you had to screw your workers.
My rhymes are terse and yours are worse, so curse and next time go rehearse,
Now FUCK YOU, VARIAN – that’s

EPIC

fucking

VERSE

<drops mic and walks away like a boss>

*  *  *  *  *

WHO WON?

WHO’S NEXT?

YOU DECIDE!

EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

 

[Thanks for coming, everyone.  More weirdness soon…]

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Monday Mailbag

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

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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?

Noblegarden

Posted in General with tags , on April 8, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

psychobunnies

Say what you want about this goofy-ass holiday, but it’s sure good for one thing: indulging my sweet tooth.  Bring on the chocolate eggs!  Granted, I’m not sure I’m clear on whether they came from chocolate chickens or something (but holy shit would Legionnaire Sanders ever make a killing from THAT), or how the rabbits come into the picture.  All I know is for a week or so we’ve got candy coming out of the woodwork.

Not to mention for a few days everybody goes apeshit and starts using the frigging chocolate eggs for CURRENCY.  I remember noticing last year people were going nuts rounding up the eggs to trade in for pet rabbits, so this year I’ve come prepared.  Because, you know what, rabbits AREN’T FUCKING HARD TO GET.  So leading up to the holiday this year, I went out and caught a few rabbits, which by the way ARE HOPPING AROUND LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, so I don’t know why people feel like they need to BUY them, but whatever.  Anyway, I caught a few rabbits a while ago, and rabbits being rabbits, that means that now I’ve got about a thousand of the bouncy buggers on hand.  So, a hundred eggs for your pet?  Pfft…75 here!  Let the chocolate-egg-earning undercutting begin!