Archive for northrend

LIVE BLOG: Ask Garrosh Anything!

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 15, 2015 by Garrosh Hellscream

question

Here we go!  As promised a few days ago, tonight the Warchief of the Horde (current or former, depending on how you count, because timey-whimey), Garrosh Hellscream, will answer any questions you’d care to throw at him!  If you can see this post, then the floor is now open for questions.  You can submit your question to the Warchief through any number of means: as a comment on this post, an e-mail to garrosh1337@gmail.com, a tweet to @GarroshHllscrm, an inquiry posted to Ask.fm, or a message through Garrosh’s Facebook or Google+ (feel free to add him on any and all of these, by the way!).

As I’ve noted before, there are a few simple ground rules for questions:

  • No spoilers!  Garrosh’s blog incarnation is currently living out the events of the Patch 5.2 timeframe.  If you’d like to include some sort of comical nod or foreshadowing toward future events in your question, feel free!  But questions explicitly referencing events that have not yet occurred in the blog will not be answered.
  • No anonymous questions will be answered.  You can submit your question under your in-game character name, a blogging pseudonym, a Twitter handle, whatever, but there must be an author to whom your question can be attributed.
  • This should probably go without saying, but no questions will be answered that are clearly engaged in harassing, trolling (not you, Bob), antagonizing, or generally disregarding the fun intentions of the endeavor.  Questions that seem to disregard, willfully or accidentally, the fundamental premises of the blog (check here for the basics, here if you’re feeling ambitious) will either be ignored or, perhaps, answered in a…derisive manner.

How it works: The live blog proper will begin at 8:30 PM EST (give or take a few minutes).  All questions will be added to this post.  Refresh this page periodically to check for updates!  I expect some responses will come quickly, while others may take a little longer, depending on what sort of response is called for.

While I will never alter the substance of your question, I reserve the right to make minor edits to correct errors (i.e., you refer to Spazzle when you clearly mean Gurtash) or to delete something spoiler-ish from an otherwise good question.

I plan to keep going for as long as I have questions that I think will be interesting and entertaining to answer, so keep them coming!  While I plan to try to answer as many questions as possible, I make no guarantee or promise that any individual question will get a response (i.e., I reserve the right to pick and choose which one I answer).  When the blog is finished for the night, Garrosh will explicitly announce that, so if there hasn’t been a “Good night, everyone!” type of statement, you can assume there’s still more on the way.

So, with all the quasi-legal technicalities out of the way… Get to it!  Ask away!  Answers to begin once ol’ you-know-who makes his glorious arrival…

* * * * *

HERE WE GO, BITCHES!  Brace your mind and hold on to your ass, because it’s time for yours truly, the one-and-only GARROSH HELLSCREAM, to answer ALL THE QUESTIONS YOU WERE AFRAID TO ASK.  Except I guess you weren’t.  Because you asked them.  SO NICE JOB NOT BEING A BUNCH OF FUCKING PANSIES RIGHT OUT THE GATE.

Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.  Keep ’em coming as you think of ’em…

What do you consider your biggest non-combat achievement? –Zugzug

There are non-combat achievements?

I kid, I kid.  Well, not really.  But whatever, I should still come up with a kinda-real answer.

You probably wouldn’t see this achievement coming, but: First runner-up in the seventh annual Garadar chili cook-off.  Which was amended to first place after… well, something unfortunate happened to original-winner Grok’nar.  (My best to his widow.)  (And I do mean my best.)

See, this might come as a surprise, but your Warchief isn’t half bad as a cook.  As a matter of fact, one of the things I had to get used to when I became Warchief was having OTHER people cooking for me.  I was never used to having other people serving me.  Just felt weird.  Still does.  Even up in Northrend, I usually chipped in on odd chores around Warsong Hold if I didn’t have more urgent things to do — as much as I was tough on the troops up on there, I think it was kinda good for morale for them to see I didn’t think I was too good to get my hands dirty with the stuff I was asking them to do.  Anyway, every so often I would sneak into the kitchen and help them whip up a few things, even then.  I actually found it pretty relaxing.  Well, except for Saurfang and his damn picky menu.  No pork my ass.

Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, 

After invading my kingdom in the most brutal manner possible, killing my son, forcing my general and lifelong friend Crowley to surrender by holding his daughter hostage and carving a bloody swath through my people’s ranks, it recently came to my attention that Sylvanas Windrunner, leader of the Forsaken who count themselves among your number, has been using full-strength Blight – which you yourself banned – and kidnapped one Koltira Deathweaver away to the Undercity for torture and brainwashing, according to my informants (who shall remain nameless). In short, she has revealed herself to be an enemy of the Alliance and a liability to the Horde, of wich you are warchief. 
So my question is: What are you going to DO about her?!
With all due respect,
–Genn Graymane, King of Gilneas

Does anyone smell wet dog in here, or is it just me?

Oh, wait, it’s Genn.  He must have picked up that stink from hanging around Varian all day.

Anyway.  Let’s take this a little at a time:

After invading my kingdom in the most brutal manner possible,

Sounds like a good start.

killing my son,

That’ll teach him to keep his guard up.

forcing my general and lifelong friend Crowley to surrender by holding his daughter hostage

 Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

and carving a bloody swath through my people’s ranks,

 Not seeing a problem so far.

it recently came to my attention that Sylvanas Windrunner, leader of the Forsaken who count themselves among your number,

Your grasp of current events as of like eight years ago is impeccable.

has been using full-strength Blight – which you yourself banned –

The WHAT you say?

and kidnapped one Koltira Deathweaver away to the Undercity for torture and brainwashing,

Holy fucking shit, is THAT where that motherfucker went?!

according to my informants (who shall remain nameless).

 I… okay, hang on.  Here’s where you’re starting to chase your tail.  So to speak.  Okay, so you’re telling me, SOME PEOPLE, who YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHO THEY ARE OR HOW THEY KNOW THIS SHIT, BUT OH BOY BELIEVE ME, THEY SURE KNOW WHAT THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT, these people tell you blah blah blah Sylvanas?  And so…you’re asking me, what, if I’m going to lay the smackdown on her or something?  And, say, go attack the Forsaken or some shit, who by COMPLETE COINCIDENCE happen to be the same people who KICKED YOUR ASS, only now I’m going to go after them because OH NO YOU DON’T LIKE SYLVANAS?

Well, get in line, chief.  Nobody likes Sylvanas.  Other the people who are already dead, but that’s their damage.  And for real, I’m not going to break off one chunk of the Horde and go stage, what? a civil war or some shit against ANOTHER major part of the Horde, just because I think their leader’s kind of a jerk.

Come on, who’s going to be a big enough asshat to play THAT card?

Do you have a sure fire cure for head aches? –Toka

The only one I’ve found that works pretty consistently is that once Dontrag and Utvoch get going with their damn yammering, and going on and on about whatever the fuck they’re saying, and the headache starts kicking in, you watch them pretty close — I know it might hurt your eyes a little at first, but hang in there, you’ve gotta push through that part — and then when you see them position themselves good and close, you reach over and smack their heads together good and hard.  I can’t stress this enough: you can’t be shy about really putting a good CRACK into cracking them together.  Then, worst case scenario, they’ll usually shut up for a little while, or better yet at least one of them will lose consciousness for at least an hour or two.  Plus when they come to, seems like they end up suffering some really killer headaches themselves, which, you know, poetic justice.  SMACKED DOWN BY IRONY, BITCHES.

Of course, if your particular headaches aren’t D&U related, I don’t know what to tell you.  <shrug>

Do you believe in ghosts?‎ —@RuekieShaman

I… Hang on.

You’re asking me…if I believe in ghosts?

Rook, what planet do you live on?  We have an entire fucking FACTION of the Horde that keeps ghosts around as fucking bankers and shit.  Every been to Stratholme?  Scholomance?  Like fifteen other places I can think of right off the top of my head?  Dude, I had the ghost of my MOM following me around for a few weeks a couple years ago!  Where have YOU been?

So you know what?  Let me see your “do you believe in ghosts?” question and raise you this one:

Do you believe in goblins?

What do you do to relax? –LazyPeon

Well, let’s see.  Writing the ol’ EPIC VERSE can be a good way to unwind, unless I write myself into one of those corners where there’s something I want to say but I can’t come up with something that rhymes with “orange,” because who the fuck had the bright idea to invent a word that like NOTHING rhymes with.  And when I have a little down time between meetings and missions of conquest and, you know, tax audits and shit, back when I was starting as Warchief, I used to sneak in a few games of cribbage with Eitrigg.  Only that old guy was way too good at that game, so he usually won, and that wasn’t exactly so great for my mood.  Lately I’ve been trying to teach Malkorok how to play, but I mean, he’s good at his job and all but overall he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, and so I end up having to repeat myself a lot, and re-explain things, and that pisses me off a lot, too.  Pretty much the only thing I can think of that I found consistently relaxing, actually, was doing some barbecuing, or whipping up a big pot of something, but like I was saying a few questions ago, since becoming Warchief I haven’t had that much of a chance to do much cooking myself.  So there goes that one.

Um.  So I guess the point is that apparently I have a pretty fucking stressful life.  Thanks for reminding me, peon.  Fuck.

What are you going to do when Shay wants to date?  What if it is the Black Prince?  Or Prince Anduin? –Zugzug

I…

DON’T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT SHIT

ESPECIALLY THE LAST PART OF THAT SHIT

WHICH IS SHITTY SHIT EVEN BY SHIT STANDARDS HOLY SHIT

The fuck is WRONG with you people coming up with this stuff?!

So…excuse me a minute.  I think I need to go sharpen Gorehowl.

[OOC aside, because I love to tease: There is an upcoming comic, already written and partially sketched out, involving Shayari bringing a prospective boyfriend to meet Garrosh. Yes, really.]

Out of sheer curiosity, any other pastry loves *besides* lemon squares? —Aranya Ver’sarn

Lime squares.  A pale imitation, but they’ll do in a pinch.

I have also been known on occasion to pick up one of those giant chocolate chip cookies and spend the afternoon strolling around Orgrimmar munching while I’m doing my business.  One of my prouder moments, actually, was one time when I was doing that, and D and/or U, whoever the fuck because who even cares enough to remember, started bugging me about that shit, and I actually managed to knock him out by smacking him over the head WITH the giant cookie.

So, you know, that’s…wait for it…the way the cookie crumbles.  (THAT’S RIGHT, GARROSH GOT JOKES)

Has anyone turned down your lemon squares, and did they survive it? How successful were they among the draenai ladies? —@SintraEdrien

 You know, I don’t usually get in the habit of running around OFFERING the lemon squares.  People are much more likely to come rolling up on me ASKING for them, especially since word about them leaked onto the internet, and from that point, hoo boy, every motherfucker with an Azeroth Online account figured they could just hit me up for a sample, because when you make the internet easy enough for any fuckhead to use, every fuckhead will.

Where was I?

But…no.  I can’t think of anyone who ever turned down the lemon squares.  Even with as much fail as I have surrounding me in a usual day at the office, even THOSE failures don’t fail enough to fail to notice the lemony awesomeness of Greatmother’s recipe.  I would guess if they did they would pretty definitely find a way to screw up their chances with the draenei girls.  I, on the other hand, rarely have problems when I offer some sweets to the ladies, draenei or otherwise, seeing as, y’know, #TheLadiesLoveGarrosh.

Hang on.  Is Shay reading this?  Where’s that delete key again?  SPAZZLE!

How much do you weigh? –Jordyn

7’2″, 340 lbs. of pure muscle.

And bone.

And sinew.

And…internal…body part…um… organs and… kidney stones…erm… YOU GET THE POINT.

As a leader, what are the toughest decisions you have to make? Lok’tar Ogar —@DonnerB123

The toughest ones, no surprise, are the biggest ones.  Which pretty much come down to decisions of life and death.  Like…literally, who to kill and who not to kill.  Really brief cases in point: there was that time a was back (and some of you people might not even have been reading here when this was going on, which raises the question WHY THE FUCK NOT), when me and Mokvar and a few others were trapped in this alternate timeline where Dranosh Saurfang was still alive…only pretty much the only way for us to save the Horde was for me to pretty much kill him.  On the other hand… every day, here in Orgrimmar, I’m surrounded by the Dontrags and Utvochs and Lor’themars and whoever the fuck elses, one annoying fucker after another griping about nuisance after nuisance…and I have to decide NOT to kill them.  Because reasons.  I guess.

We live in an imperfect world, DonnerB123.  An ugly, imperfect world.

So . . . I simply can’t seem to get the hang of this: Is it Dontvoch and Utrag, or Dontut and Vochtrag? My head hurts . . . —@SintraEdrien

 Nobody knows, Sintra.  Nobody fucking knows.

Would you ever want to return to Nagrand? —@Malkorok_

Oh, hey, Malk.  Taking a break from reading that Cribbage for Fucking Idiots guide I gave you, huh?

Anyway… Would I want to return to Nagrand, like to visit?  Sure.  I’ve been back a couple times to see Greatmother.  Not for a while now, granted, but still.  So yeah, it would be nice to see the old place again, one of these days, when things calm down.

Return for good, though?  Doubt it.  Nagrand’s always going to be home, mind you, but my life is in Azeroth now.  The past is the past, and all that, and you can’t go back.  Well, you can, but, you know…well, don’t remind me.  FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.

When are you finally going to get married? —@Greatmom_Geyah

Oh, hey, check out the timing there.  I was just talking about you, Greatmother.

And…yeah.  Okay, Greatmother, look.  We’re all adults here, so I’m going to be real with you.  You know the old saying, right?  Why buy the cow, when you literally have dozens of hot women of every description lining up around Grommash Hold for a chance to take turns at…

Hang on.

Is Shayari reading this or not?  Can somebody go check on this for me?  Seriously.

Warchief, watch out for elven ships around durotar… Your habit of antagonizing the idiot in charge of Silvermoon could have repercussions, now that they’re stockpiling Mogu weaponry. Possibly Forsaken ships too, you KNOW those two are in bed. Figuratively. Though maybe this is the elves ending that? What do you think about this? –Ritaba

Okay… I’m not sure if this is actually a question, but… Let me put it this way, Ritaba.  Ask me again how worried I am about Regent-Lord Hair-Care rising up like an avenging demon (*chortle*) and rallying his wrathful people (*guffaw*) to unleash a blood wave of vengeance on me.

Yeah.  Like zero…

Dear Warchief- could you pleeeease appoint us a leader? Ever since the last Sunstrider went wacko on us, we’ve been lost… —@SintraEDrien

 …aaaaaand here’s case in point as to why.

What is your favorite place in all of Azeroth? –Orgrimmar Travel Agency

You know what?  You probably wouldn’t guess this, but Mulgore.  I really like Mulgore.  Reminds me of Nagrand a lot — rolling plains, open skies, all that kind of thing.

Honorable mention for weekends and vacations: What happens at Gallywix’s Pleasure Palace, stays at Gallywix’s Pleasure Palace.

Least favorite: Ashenvale.  I hate Ashenvale.  For multiples reasons, most of which revolve the same fel-forsaken part of it.

Warchief, I must know,
Much is known of the Kor’kron’s activities in Pandaria, and the Blackrock clan’s work in Orgrimmar and abroad. But what of your Warsong clan? They have been inactive since the Cataclysm, as far as anyone can tell. Do you have any big plans for them coming up? –Grottee Metalbeard, goblin shaman

Now see, I can understand how this could have caused some confusion.  Because yeah, the Warsong clan came with me up to Northrend, and they represented a big chunk of our forces when I was in command up there.  And then in the time right after the Cataclysm, they were pretty active in Ashenvale (which is not, I might have mentioned, on my list of Favorite Places Ever).  And so, yeah, since then, I can see how it might look to you like they’ve gone fairly inactive, but that’s just because the clan hasn’t been operating as much as a singular force.  See, before I became Warchief, I was chieftain of the clan, so they represented the main bulk of the forces under my command.  Now, though, I have ALL the orcish clans under my jurisdiction, so there isn’t as much need for me to be lining up jobs for the Warsong specifically.  They’ve been keeping busy, just not in a way that makes you go “the Warsong orcs are doing THIS over THERE.”  Some of them were part of Nazgrim’s detachment heading down to Pandaria, a lot of them have been recruited into the ranks of the Kor’kron along with more than a few Blackrocks, others have been assigned to some other operations I have going on around Orgrimmar.  So they’re just getting around more.  Spread the love!  And by “love,” I mean, of course, “bloody fist of retribution.”

If Varian begged for mercy would you? a: mock him, b: cut off his head, c: take over SW, d: all of the above —@SintraEDrien

Sorry, I can’t get past the first five words without cackling maniacally so hard I fall out of my chair.

Heh. Heheh.

HAAAAA!

What’s your earliest memory? —@LibFeathers

You know, my VERY earliest memories aren’t really specific memories of particular events, just the sort of odds and ends that most people remember.  My childhood in Nagrand, obviously — I can remember back, vaguely, to when I was around five or so.  My mom was still alive then, so I remember her, and I remember us fighting through the red pox as best we could…which, let me tell you, SUCKED.  There was the pet clefthoof I had back then, y’know, before meat supplies started getting thin that one winter, and there was me getting to be friends with Dranosh.  We hung out a lot back then, fishing and hunting and stuff — me and Dranosh and Jorin Deadeye, actually, back before Jorin turned out to be a dick.  Um… probably my earliest memories of specific events all revolved around my mom — the day when Greatmother told me she’d died, for one.  And one, a little while before that, back when the pox was still going on.  I’d woken up from this nightmare, and she and I stayed up a while talking about it, and it’s nothing really momentous or even important, but it was just one of those little things that stick with you, you know?  Anyway…that’s it for early memories.  Not fun, I know.  But like…if something’d going to stick in your head from THAT young, it’s almost always going to be something bad, right?

By any chance would you be willing to add any pandaren cultural festivals to be acknowledged? Brewfest does not count. —@ShenWeiPureblossom

Funny coincidence — you should totally go talk to Ji about this.  I’ve heard he was talking to some of the other pandas about carrying over some custom you guys had on your wandering turtle island whatever-the-fuck is was, some kind of outdoor festival with noodles or something?  Check in with Lunchbox about this, he could probably use a hand setting it up.  Hell, I might even try to whip something up myself for it, if it happens.  Like I’ve been saying, it’s been too long since I got in the kitchen.

[More OOC teasing: This is indeed on the way. In the not-too-distant future, the Pandaren Noodle Festival comes to Orgrimmar, in a comic/transcript featuring… well… almost the entire damn supporting cast.]

Hail Warchief Hellscream! It has been some time since I have found the time to reply to your writings as things have been quite busy up in Hearthglen lately. Especially with the arrival of his gracious young Highness, Prince Anduin, while he convalesces at Mardenholde for a time. Something about a bell, if I recall. Anyway, onto the question before I tarry on too long.

I had heard from a rather reliable source who would prefer anonymity that some months ago, you suffered from an invasion in Orgrimmar. Was this true, and what occurred? —Tirion Fordring

Oh geez…here we go.  Well, at least T-Ford managed to keep it under 5000 words.

So…yeah.  I don’t know if I would call it an INVASION, but… a little while back, yeah, there was…an incident.  This goes back a few months… May, I think?  Anyway, I’m hanging around in Grommash Hold, right?  Just minding my own business, plotting world domination, same ol’ same ol’.  A regular day at the office.  When all of a sudden, out of like NOWHERE, these gnomes start running into the place.  And at first, I’m like, DAMMIT MALKOROK, how about some security up in this piece, but then I see the sheer NUMBER of them — there’s hundreds of these motherfuckers.  Maybe even THOUSANDS of them.  Which, if you know how I feel about gnomes, was just filling me with a level of glee that could have wiped out all life in the universe.

Thing of it is, this wasn’t some actual invasion or ATTACK from the fuckers down in Gnomergan, or…wherever they fuck they’re living these days.  The part of Gnome-ville that’s not fucking glowing from radiation and shit.  Anyhow, THESE gnomes are all like…the noobiest, weakest, saddest little excuses for underpowered gnomes you’ve ever seen — and seriously, do you KNOW how fucking SAD someone has to be for me to be forced to coin the phrase “underpowered gnomes”?

And so in they come, in sheer numbers too big for the guards to stop them all on the way in — though, believe me, if you saw the trail of bodies you’d know they fucking TRIED — and they come flooding like rats into Grommash Hold, only if they were rats I might actually worry about it more because FLEAS.  And here’s the punchline — when they finally got close to me, you know what they’re big finishing move was?  They all kept trying to hug and kiss me.  Like my foot or some shit.  Until I popped a bladestorm, and, you know, eight trillion dead gnomes.

Which is a beautiful way to line up four words, I gotta say.

Do you like to dance? –Jordyn

Draw your own conclusions.

Do you think that maybe Mokvar and Deliana were ever married in a previous life? They seem so . . . together. —@SintraEDrien

DUDE, I don’t know WHAT the fuck to think about those two.  Would it SURPRISE me?  No.  I am WAY past the point where fucking ANYTHING could surprise me around here.  So much weird shit has gone on around here the last few years, I consider NOTHING off the menu.  Mokvar and that human chick married?  Sure, maybe.  Half-draenei daughter from years back turns up at the front door?  Why the fuck not?  Ji Deep-Dish floats around in a fucking balloon and gets his pudgy ass stuck in a honey tree?  Sounds normal to me.  For real, man, at this point fucking Draz’Zilb the ogre could show up riding Onyxia, who’s been reanimated for like the forty-seventh time as far as anybody can count, with Anduin on a leash dressed like in a bear suit, and when Draz belches Anduin’s been conditioned to tell a knock-knock joke, and my reaction would be “Yeah, sure, why didn’t I see it coming?”  WELCOME TO AZEROTH, WHERE THE BOTTOMLESS CUP OF WHAT THE FUCK FLOWS FREELY IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

Warchief, I really loved your poem about your pet clefthoof, it really brought a tear to my eye. Could you please share another sample of your EPIC VERSE from your childhood back in Garadar? –Khizzara

Hmm… okay, let me dig out the old journal and see if I can find something for you.  Now, keep in mind, my poems back in those days weren’t nearly as polished, but let’s see…

Okay.

There was a little orc
Who ate a little pork
Over in the breakfast nook
And when he was bad
He wished that he was good
Cause Greatmom’s got a mean right hook

EPIC VERSE!

Wait… that’s… yeah, that one maybe doesn’t come off looking so good.

Um… I’ll see what else I can find.

When will you ever figure out that the constant stream of adventurers coming to annoy you about gold were sent from me? —@M_Grimtotem

OH FUCK YOU, MAGATHA

So for anyone who missed this, a ways back, Madame Upright Hamburger here stirred up some shit on Twitter, where she went on about having hidden a stash of gold somewhere in my damn throne room, and offering it as a giveaway to anyone who could find it.  Which set off a borderline-noob-gnome-like influx of random motherfuckers running into Grommash Hold and trying to turn the damn place upside down looking for the loot.  So finally, FINALLY, after Malkorok and his people rounded up and fucking executed like I don’t even know how many of these people, my throne room stopped being the hot spot for random asshats to go hang out.  You know, aside from the random asshats who hang out there professionally.  And before anybody starts getting all excited, let me reiterate: THERE IS NO TREASURE HIDDEN IN MY THRONE ROOM, OKAY?  Seriously.  The last thing I want to have happen a little ways down the road is like another ten or fifteen or twenty-five random people to come running through into my command room expecting to collect loot.

What’s the latest between you and Zaela? —@MyGarona

Look, Greatmom, I’ve told you, stop trying to… wait.

Garona?

Seriously?

Jealous much?

Look, there’s nothing going on with me and Zaela, okay?

…that you need to concern yourself with.

<waggle>

What’s the deal with people thinking Mokvar and I are a couple? No matter how many times I try, I can’t convince ANYONE! —Deliana Hawthorne

Because, see, Lor’themar can say he’s a dude, and he can call himself a dude, and he can stroll around all day in dude’s clothes and using all the right pronouns and shit, and he can talk himself red in the face trying to tell everybody he’s a dude, but at the end of the day, people with eyes and still look at him and see that he’s Lor’themar.

Also, who the hell let HER in here?  MALK!  How about some security, dammit?!

What’s your favorite tipple? Beer? Wine? Liquor? If any, what variety do you enjoy in particular? —@SintraEDrien

Holy shit, Sintra, you’ve sure got a lot of questions.

I’m pretty simple as far as my drinking tastes go.  Beer and grog, a some rum on occasion.  They have some pretty good varieties out of Stranglethorn, so I’ll pick up a bottle or two when I have the chance.  Maybe a little cherry grog on occasion, but that’s about as fancy as I get with it.  Although, you want to know who’s MAJORLY into the weird fruity drinks, like those ones that come with the little umbrellas every single time like there’s a fucking law prohibiting their sale without them, like drinking the drink has a chance of proccing rain and the damn umbrella has to be included as a fucking safety measure?  Malkorok.  No joke.  Dude can’t suck down enough of that shit.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Why don’t you like us? We just want to help. —@Dontrag_Utvoch

Do you want me to get into the list chronologically, alphabetically, or in order of importance?

You know what?  It’s not even worth it.  It’s like…fuck, it’s like trying to explain to the damn wolf pup why you’re yelling at it two hours after it peed on the carpet.  What’s even the fucking point?

Although…you know what’s funny?  Check it: Damned if I can remember which of these fuckers is which, but I know, rank-wise, Dontrag is a sergeant, and Utvoch is a scout.  Now it’s kinda-sorta funny that after like nine years in the Horde military, Utvoch still hasn’t managed to get promoted above the absolute lowest possible rank there is.  Like, the day you show up, they make you a scout, and here he is a decade later and he’s STILL only managed to keep himself half a rung up from peon.

So that’s good for a chuckle.  But you want to know the disturbing part?  Back when I first met General Nazgrim, in Northrend, dude was rank sergeant.  So that means that until I took over and started doing promotions and reassignments, fucking DONTRAG AND NAZGRIM WERE THE SAME DAMN RANK.

On the other hand, I suppose we don’t know for sure that Dontrag COULDN’T steer a ship in a straight line without crashing it, so…

Anyhow.  Okay, one more, so let’s see what we’ve got to wrap up.

When are we going to hear the rest of @Mokvar_Scribe‘s tale? The people want answers! —Deliana Hawthorne

Wait, her again?  DAMMIT MALKOROK, GET ON THIS!

But, okay, to answer your question:

Starting…NOW.*

That’s it for questions for tonight.  Thanks to all of my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS for contributing, and to all of my enemies who came by, FUCK YOU ALL BUT THANKS FOR THE PAGEVIEWS, NOW HIT RFRESH A FEW MORE TIMES THEN CROAK.

I’m out, people.  More soon.

* * * * *

*VERY soon, in fact — as an added perk for those of you who’ve stayed this late into the going, well…count to ten, click back to the main page, and rejoin the ongoing tale of Mokvar, Garrosh, and more!

Meanwhile, for those of you coming late to the party, don’t worry, you haven’t missed your chance to pose your questions to the Warchief — there’s always his monthly mailbag!  Next edition coming March 2!  Feel free to e-mail, or use the handy-dandy form below:

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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.

Where did all the words go?

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

GARROSH:  Sup, Tirion.

DARIA:  Good luck, Warchief.

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

TIRION:  Warchief Hellscream!

GARROSH:  Here we go.

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

FARANELL:  So, in other words, hello.

GARROSH:  Yeah.  Hey.

MOKVAR:  Afternoon, Highlord.

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

MOKVAR:  Wow, really?

GARROSH:  I told you.

FARANELL:  So, in other words, also hello.

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

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

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

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

FARANELL:  Crap.

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

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

FARANELL:  So, in other words, yes.

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

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

GARROSH:  What the hell, at this point.

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

FARANELL:  Huh.  Were you killed?

GARROSH:  <chortle>

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

FARANELL:  Oh, so it was a dream?

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

FARANELL:  Actually, what I meant—

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

FARANELL:  Ah.  Yeah.

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

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

MOKVAR:  Check.

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

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

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

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

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

GARROSH:  No, it’s—

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

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

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

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

GARROSH:  Much appreciated, Tirion.  So—

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

GARROSH:  Ah.  You weren’t done.

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

GARROSH:  Um, yeah.  Cool.

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

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

GARROSH:  That was it, right?

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

MOKVAR:  Just go.

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

FARANELL:  Don’t pause too much between sentences.

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

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

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

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

GARROSH:  Right, we know.

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

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

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

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

GARROSH:  You wanted the pastrami, right?

MOKVAR:  Yeah, please.

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

Meanwhile, Garrosh et al are eating.

FARANELL:  Did you bring any mustard?

GARROSH:  Yeah, you need spicy brown or yellow?

FARANELL:  Spicy.

GARROSH:  Here you go.

FARANELL:  Thanks.

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

Everyone continues eating as a moment of silence passes.

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

TIRION:  <blinks, surprised>  Warchief Hellscream?

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

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

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

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

MOKVAR:  Eh, beats being unemployed.

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

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

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

GARROSH:  So what was the meeting about?

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

FARANELL:  What kind of preparations?

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

GARROSH:  Which…would be?

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

GARROSH:  Huh, that must have been rough.

TIRION:  Begging your pardon, Warchief?

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

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

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

FARANELL:  Starting to tick a few boxes here…

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

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

FARANELL:  I think I see where this is going…

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

GARROSH:  Oh shit.

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

TIRION:  From Outland, originally…

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

GARROSH:  Huh?

FARANELL:  The what?

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

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

Tirion brandishes the Ashbringer and stares at it a moment.

TIRION:  Aye.

GARROSH:  Oh shit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

TIRION:  Indeed, my friend.

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

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

GARROSH:  Uh oh, here it comes.

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

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

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

MOKVAR:  Dead.

FARANELL:  And dead.

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

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

MOKVAR:  So, we good here?

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

GARROSH:  Yeah, I think so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dontrag and Utvoch enter.

GARROSH:  Okay, so, Tirion, quick introductions.

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

FARANELL:  In a manner of speaking.

DONTRAG:  Greeting, Warchief.

UTVOCH:  Good day to you, sir!

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

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

GARROSH:  Isn’t that what I just said?

DONTRAG:  No sir.  You said I was Utvoch.

GARROSH:  I did?

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

DONTRAG:  Bad genes, sir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DONTRAG:  Hey.

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

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

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

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

DONTRAG:  Maybe it’s another Fordring?

UTVOCH:  Did you have a cousin up there too?

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

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

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

GARROSH:  Um, are you guys thinking of Fordragon?

DONTRAG:  Yeah, actually, it might be.

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

DONTRAG:  Definitely some kind of name like that.

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

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

UTVOCH:  Oh okay.

DONTRAG:  Was he a friend of yours?

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

DONTRAG:  Oh shut up, stupid.

UTVOCH:  You shut up.

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

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

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

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

Garrosh, Mokvar, and Faranell exchange glances and nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 4, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

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So not only have I not really done a decent mailbag in a while (the last one really opened up a pretty big can of worms, to be fair), but in light of recent events, I actually have a pretty serious influx of stuff to respond to.  Let’s get right to the mail…

 

Hey Garrosh,

In light of everything you’ve been going through, I decided to take a trip to Demon Fall Canyon to pay my respects to Grom and Lakkara both.  I’ve included a picture of myself at Grom’s monument below.  Also, while you were traveling to Nagrand this week, I took the liberty of writing a post on the blog to encourage your readers to do the same.  Hopefully they’ll follow my lead and send you some photographic proof that we’re all behind you, and thinking of you while you deal with everything that’s happened.

If you ever need anything,

–Spazzle Fizzletrinket, Orgrimmar

Thanks, Spazzle.  Much appreciated.  As it turns out, a bunch of other people did follow your lead, and my inbox ended up sort of flooded with e-mails and links from people chronicling their own visits.  Here’s a smattering from folks who didn’t include an actual letter:

 

And a bunch here that Leit over at int i; posted as part of a full blog entry on the…well…pilgrimages, I guess, that Spazzle set off:

Hail, Warchief!

Condolences on the … recent disturbing events. It’s hard enough to lose a parent once, let alone twice. Know that the Horde grieves with you.

In other news, guess who I ran into the other day? None other than Faranell, the “new guy” in your guild. One of your Kor’kron guards has developed a rather innovative method for controlling the pace of Faranell’s research. He occasionally punts an abomination’s head into the sewers.

That’s Faranell in the middle, and Overseer Kraggosh on the right. He seems to be doing a fine job.

And lastly, Bowling for Wildhammer. You should try it.

(And yes, that’s an atypical hairstyle for one of us. I learned long ago that long, flowing locks and high-torque power shafts DO NOT play well together.)

–A Concerned Citizen

Hey ACC, good to hear from you, and thanks for the show of support.  It’s been a rough couple of weeks, but I’ll manage.  Granted, I’ll sleep a lot better once ol’ You-Know-Who is finally captured and properly dismembered.

Speaking of dissected bodies, thanks as well for checking in on things in the Undercity.  Did you happen to see any signs of Koltira Deathweaver while you were down there, by the way?  Haven’t heard from him in months, and last anybody heard he was helping Sylvanas with some stuff out in the Plaguelands.  Anyway…I’m sure the boys are keeping things under control down there.  I’m still not totally sold on Bragor Bloodfist and the job he’s doing with the watching-Sylvanas-but-not-necessarily-in-the-right-way, but I’m sure Overseer Kraggosh is taking care of business.  I actually gave him the Apothecarium assignment deliberately, in the hopes that maybe working down there could help grease the wheels on moving him up on the list of potential “donor” organ recipients.  Not to jinx things, but the guy has a really bad family history, heart disease and such, to the point that most of the family pretty much treats it as a foregone conclusion.  Want to know how bad it is?  The name “Kraggosh”?  Means “Heart of Cholesterol” in orcish.  Yeah.

Also, Bowling for Wildhammer?  You’ve got to fill me in on this one.  Strangely enough, for all the meetings I’ve had with Zaela, somehow she never mentioned this little diversion in Twilight Highlands.  Seriously, they’ve got some kind of blood sport out there called Bowling for Wildhammer, and she’s wasting my time trying to fucking push some damn SUSHI place on me over and over?  The fuck?

 

Greetings Warchief!

Spazzle suggested we attempt to cheer you up by sending you letters and pictures of us honoring your dearly departed father and mother.  I kept trying to take decent shots, but my stupid pet kept ruining my pictures.  The attached one is the best one I have with out any sort of shenanigans.

While I am writing I would like to ask you a question.  Have you ever considered settling down and starting a family?  I am from the Armripper clan who has made a good showing in all the conflicts.  I am young but not too young.  I was a part of the events in Northrend and was there to help kill the Litch King.  I was also helpful in bringing down Deathwing and the Twilight Cult.

The only deal breaker for me is that I must be able to keep my full stable of pets near me (ie in the house at all times).  I love my pets so much and would never be able to settle down with a man that did not respect that.  I have 25 of them, mostly large felines of various colorings.  Each one is precious to me.

Awaiting your reply,

–Toka Armripper

Oh great.  We’ve got another one.

I actually think I remember you from Northrend, Toka, from when I joined the troops in Icecrown Citadel to deliver Hellscream’s Warsong.  My memory’s a little fuzzy on one point, though — you weren’t on of those fuckers who had a problem with the Warsong and wanted me to stop singing, were you?  Because I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms, I have an enchanting singing voice, I don’t care what any of you people say.

I’m also totally fine with the pet thing.  I mean, 25 cats is maybe a bit much, especially since you say you’re young, seeing as the Crazy Cat Lady thing usually doesn’t start kicking in until middle age at the earliest.  (Also, that thing you said about being “young, but not too young”?  Is this your way of telling me that you’re, you know, legal?  Because assuming we’re talking over 18 here, “too young”?  Ain’t no such thing.  If there’s grass on the field, play ball.)  But I get the appeal of pets — obviously I’m pretty attached to Mortimer, and he would definitely be a dealbreaker for me too, and I also have my worg Malak, who doesn’t get as much press as Mortimer does but also isn’t negotiable.  So I get it.

That said, gotta be honest, I haven’t really given a whole lot of thought to settling down any time soon.  For one thing, I have way too many things to focus on that are a lot bigger than just me.  I have a war to win and humans to exterminate and the glorious future of an Azeroth-dominating Horde to secure, and my time and energy is going to be a lot better spent on that stuff than running around filling out a gift registry (which by the way, am I the only one who thinks that’s a fucking tacky idea in the first place? “Hey, here’s a list of the stuff we want you to buy us, because getting married all of sudden means we get to act like we’re 10 years old and everyone we know is Greatfather fucking Winter”) and getting measured for a tux.  Which, also by the way, I don’t do bow ties.  Chafe my neck something awful.

But even beyond that, have you SEEN Thrall since he got married?  Look, I didn’t always agree with him, but even I wouldn’t hesitate to admit the guy was a badass.  Now?  Have you seen how he lets Aggra lead him around by the nose?  I mean hell, even when he was busy fighting Deathwing, there he was, him and the Aspects and a collection of some of the Horde’s greatest champions, and they narrowly pull off this nail-biter victory that saves the world, and right in their moment of glory and triumph who just SHOWS THE FUCK UP like she OWNS the place?  Yeah.  Aggra.  No thanks.

Besides, why would I want to settle down?  Let’s be honest here — there’s a reason why I’ve ended up having to replace my bed upstairs in Grommash Hold 37 times since I took over as Warchief, and believe you me, it ain’t faulty craftsmanship.

The damn meme thing, sort of

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

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By this point you’ve probably seen this “6th of 6th” picture-sharing meme that’s been going around the web and spreading like wildfire.  A few days ago, Rades from Orcish Army Knife (Which, by the way, would be a sword.  An orcish army knife would be a huge frigging sword.) tagged me for this thing, which means now I’m supposed to make a post where I go into the sixth subdirectory of my screenshots folder, and post the sixth image.

Now, I knew Earth Online was a pretty popular game, but I didn’t realize it was so widespread that the whole blogosphere could work under the assumption that EVERYBODY was playing it and would have a screenshots folder.  Only problem is, I don’t actually take screenshots of my Earth Online gaming.  So what I guess I’ll do is use some of my own personal pictures since that’s pretty much all I’ve got.  (Also, I have to ask – the sixth subdirectory?  People actually have six subdirectories?  Of their screenshots?  People take that many screenshots AND get that organized about it?  You know where I have every single picture of any kind on my whole computer?  In one folder.  Called “Pictures.”  The end.  Do you people ever go outside?)

Anyway, counting down to the sixth picture, we get this little gem:

I took this one when I was flying through Loch Modan a long time ago, around the time we were first setting up shop in Twilight Highlands with the Dragonmaw.  It was at Ironband’s Excavation Site.  I just thought the statue here was kind of cool-looking.  Funny thing is, there actually is an Earth Online tie-in here.  The random statue gets referenced in the game in a major way – there’s a big huge giant version of the exact same statue that’s a major landmark in one of the main cities, which is kind of a cool mini-reference for anybody who would actually notice it.  Like I’ve said before, they do a lot of referencing like that in the game, which is kind of fun to spot.

So…I’m also supposed to pick six more people to “tag” for this meme thing, but I’ve kind of got a problem.  At this point, this meme has been going on for a while, and I’m not sure if there are many people left who haven’t done it.  I’ve been going through the blogs I keep an eye on, and for the life of me I can’t find THREE that haven’t done this already, much less six.  So…as much as this might be a cop-out, I’m just going to issue a general tagging – if you’re reading this, and you blog, and you haven’t done this thing yet, well, guess what?  You’re tagged.  DON’T THINK I WON’T KNOW IF YOU IGNORE YOUR WARCHIEF’S DRAFT NOTICE.

Anyway, while I have my picture folder open, I figured I’d also put this one out there.  And since I’m dancing around the standard meme requirement by issuing a blanket tagging, I figure, what the hell, here’s another blanket “tagging” for everyone else to work on right here on-site (or on-blog, or whatever).  Extra picture below, of me and Saurfang back in Northrend – all that’s missing is a caption.

Caption away, my minions – the comments section awaits!

From the Desk of Saurfang

Posted in From the Desk of Saurfang with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 17, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

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Greetings, citizens of the Horde.

My name is Varok Saurfang, and it is with the greatest humility and utmost solemnity that I have agreed, in this time of crisis, to assume temporarily the mantle of acting Warchief.  I did not seek this office, nor have I ever craved political power or influence; I am, at heart, a soldier, and have never wished anything more than to serve the Horde in whatever manner required.  As it happens on this day, the collective leadership of the Horde has called upon me to shoulder the burden of leadership, and I am both honored and humbled by their decision to place this trust with me.

As I have all of my life, and shall for whatever days remain, I undertake this task with the full dedication of my very being for the good of the Horde, and I pray that I may serve you well.

The noble Eitrigg has informed me that Warchief Hellscream frequently employed this electronic forum – a “blog,” as I believe it is called – to communicate directly with his citizens, to update them on important happenings, to inform and inspire.  It is a tribute to his leadership that he would so value you, his people, as to endeavor so steadfastly to keep you aware of important matters in this way, and as I assume the office of Warchief, I have decided to honor his custom by writing to you here in his stead.

I will readily admit that I am far from conversant in these new computerized venues – you will forgive an aging orc for falling behind the march of technological progress – and so I am sure my use of this forum will be but a pale imitation of Warchief Hellscream’s.  Fortunately, my advisor Mokvar has offered his aid in transcribing my messages to post here (again, I show my age, as a quill and paper are far more comfortable to my hands than these newer and, I am sure, more efficient machines), and the delightfully precocious goblin Spazzle Fizzletrinket, whom I have just today had the pleasure of meeting, has assured me of his aid in the general maintenance of the blog.  I can only hope you will forgive the missteps of my inexperience, and forgive as well what will surely be my failure to adequately recreate the eloquence and inspiration to which you have doubtlessly grown accustomed in these pages.

I have had the honor of fighting alongside many of you in recent years during our victorious campaign in Northrend; and some fewer among you fought by my side previously in Silithus as part of the Might of Kalimdor in the Ahn’Qiraj War Effort.  Throughout our past efforts, you have done honor to the Horde with your strength, your resolve, your dedication to our people; and while in these past battles I have held a rank that would denote me as “superior officer,” time and again your heroism belied any such titles that would designate me superior.  It is my honor now to stand shoulder to shoulder with you once again as we face an uncertain future.

Yet it is an honor I would happily relinquish: all that I have achieved, and all that I have attained, I would gladly give, were it not necessary for me or anyone to stand in Warchief Hellscream’s place now.  Alas, we do not live in better times, and it falls to me to deliver unwanted news.  I will not sugar-coat, nor will I equivocate, for you, the people of the Horde, deserve to know the full truth.

The rumors that you have heard are true.  Warchief Garrosh Hellscream has gone missing.

In the days ahead I will spell out the current situation in further detail, and keep you updated on the current state of our investigations; for the moment, a brief overview will suffice.

As you are surely aware, Warchief Hellscream and an inner circle of elite advisors have been engaged in thwarting an attempt by the Twilight’s Hammer to resurrect the odious ogre mage Cho’gall.  In the aftermath of the Twilight attacks on the Doomhammer and the Kor’kron contingent in Ahn’Qiraj, the Warchief bravely traveled ahead to Alcaz Island, in the hopes of intervening in what he believed to be a Twilight plot.  It was at that point that contact with the Warchief was lost. 

At the present time we do not know where he is or whether he has fallen into hostile hands.  Indeed, we do not at present know whether the Warchief is still alive, though I remain hopeful, as, I am sure, do you all.  We can reasonably rule out Alcaz Island itself as the Warchief’s location; some hours after Warchief Hellscream departed for the island, Horde forces arrived there as well, and upon discovering that the Warchief was nowhere to be found, undertook an exhaustive search of the entire island.  There was no sign of him, though there were numerous leads gathered as to his possible whereabouts, which I will share with you in the due course of our ongoing investigation.

In the meantime, I have taken steps to buttress the other front of our current conflict, that of the ruins of Ahn’Qiraj.  As you are aware, the loquacious rogue Garona Halforcen, engaged in a cunning ruse to entrap Twilight agents in the temple ruins, fell victim herself to a Twilight ambush, and was forced to withdraw in the face of superior numbers.  In the resulting chaos, agents of the Twilight’s Hammer were able to secure the inner sanctum of C’thun, a chamber suspected to be instrumental in their vile resurrection plot.

Let me make no mistake: I hold within me no patience or forgiveness for those who would strike against the Horde, less still for those who would do so through trickery.  As such, I have deployed to Silithus the fourth, fifth, and seventh legions of the Kor’kron High Guard – the fourth having served under my command in the final stages of the Icecrown campaign – to converge upon the ruins and secure it.  I have meanwhile assigned an air patrol of two hundred windrider skyguards to circle the zone and assure that no stray enemies might escape the area.

The Twilight’s Hammer wished to make the Temple of Ahn’Qiraj theirs.  I hope they find it comfortable, for not a single one of their number will set eyes upon another place for the rest of their increasingly short days.

And while the siege of Silithus unfolds, we will redouble our efforts here to locate our missing Warchief.  Once again, I shall take pains to keep you, our loyal citizens, abreast of ongoing developments, and may well call upon your aid in gathering information.  The disappearance of Garrosh Hellscream is more than a crisis for our people; it is an attack and an affront to the Horde itself.  Whatever parties have taken it upon themselves to act against our leader have likewise courted the outrage of every one of our people, and in so doing they have made a terrible, critical error: they have struck against the Horde, but left it still living to strike back.

You may, indeed, even find it within yourselves to admire their daring.  You would be wise to admire it from afar.

They will be found.  They will be caught.  Our Warchief will be returned to safety, and as for the fate that awaits his attackers…I will not elaborate on it here.  Solider though I am, I also pride myself a gentleman, and I would not discuss such details openly here where young eyes might see them.  I could not bear to think that I had robbed an innocent child of restful sleep for the nightmares such words might inspire.

Lok’tar ogar, friends.  Honor go with us all.

 

-Saurfang

Monday mailbag

Posted in EPIC VERSE, Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 2, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

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Short break from the ongoing business in Silithus and Ferelas and Dustwallow and wherever the hell I’m going to end up getting stuck going to next, to answer some mail…

 

Dear Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde;

I just wanted to thank you for kindly taking the time out of your busy schedule to spread some cheer at the orphanage this Winter’s Veil.  The children were so thrilled to meet Greatfather Winter in person and to receive their new toys.  There is so little excitement in their daily routine, and they have so very few possessions, that this event made a huge impression on them.  Many are still talking about it to this day.

Of course, some of the older children realize that it was not really Greatfather Winter delivering their presents; however, they were quite touched to see that the Warchief himself has not forgotten them, the Horde’s smallest and most vulnerable citizens.  I have informed these older children about the existence of your blog, so you may notice a slight increase in your readership.

Thank you once again, and may you have a very happy New Year.

–Orphan Matron Battlewail.

Some of you might have remembered last week that Eitrigg had gotten me to “volunteer” to play Greatfather Winter at the Orgrimmar orphanage (read: he went ahead and fucking told them I was going to do it without actually asking me, then played the honor-your-commitments and set-an-example-for-keeping-your-word-for-the-kids cards on me).  A lot of you have probably seen this already, but @_Rades over at Orcish Army Knife somehow managed to get a picture of the spectacle too, so that might be worth a peek if you really don’t want to let me get away with any dignity.

Anyway, though… I guess it’s good that the kids felt like someone was looking out for them, even if a lot of them ARE a bunch of snot-nosed little brats.  (And to think Thrall actually wants to be a dad, too… I’ll tell you right now, I am NOT looking forward to playing Uncle Garrosh at those get-togethers.)

 

Dear Warcheif,

My name is Gurtash, and I’m 13 years old.  I live in Orgrimmar at the orphinage.  My mom was sick and died after leaving the enterrnment camps.  My dad died in battle in Northend fighting scorge.  He was very brave and taght me to live with honor.  I am going to be a warrior to like my dad and you.

Matron Battlewhale showwed me your blog it is very good.  I love wyverns and Mortimer is the best!  I seen you fly him before.  My dad said I could have wyvern when I’m older but he died.  Can i help you take care of Mortimer?  I will feed him and brush him and clean his stall and talk to him.  Maybe you could give me some sillver for helping or not that’s ok to.  Let me know ok.  Thanks.

Flying in the sky
Someday I’ll fly as high
Mortimer on the wing
Faster than anything
Loyal to the end
Protecting his friend
So dont start a fight
He will end it right.

EPIC VERSE!

–Gurtash

Uh oh, here we go.  Well, I guess Battlewhale— erm, I mean, Battlewail did warn me.

Wait, this kid’s dad died fighting the Scourge in Northrend?  But that would mean…oh crap.

So, Gurtash, I um…yeah, I’m sorry about your folks, but it’s good to hear you want to be a brave warrior of the Horde like your dad.  Lucky for you we do have some really good trainers here in Orgrimmar, so make sure you listen to them once you’re a little older and you get to go down to the Valley of Trials.  And make sure you eat lots of meat to build your strength.  I know a lot of grownups are going to try pushing the vegetables on you, and they’re fine if you can choke them down, I guess, but trust me on this, you’re going to want a lot of protein for muscle.  Pork, steak, bacon – dude, you cannot possibly get enough bacon – tastes great and great FOR you!  Take it from your Warchief.

Also gotta say, you win points for the epic verse (no caps here because it’s kind of EPIC VERSE! junior edition in this case).  Keep up the poetry, and just remember, don’t let anybody give you any crap about it.  Somewhere along the line, some smartass is probably going to try to make some wisecracks about you writing poetry, but don’t listen to them.  In fact, the best way to handle it is to just let them yammer on, let them take their best shot, and then take YOUR best shot back, ideally by beating the living shit out of them.  I mean the living crap.  I’m not supposed to say “shit” to you, am I, right?  Fuck.  DAMMIT, I did it again!  Forget both of those.  (AND DO NOT TRY ASKING MATRON BATTLEWAIL WHAT THE SECOND ONE MEANS.  THAT IS AN ORDER!!  Whew.)

Anyway, Gurtash, Mortimer DOES take a lot of time and attention, not that I really mind, but a little help on busy days or when I have to be away from Orgrimmar might be handy, come to think of it.  I’ll see about bringing you over to Grommash Hold for a visit and see if we can set something up…just watch the talons until he gets used to you!  Seriously.  Wyverns are cool and all, but until they decide they can trust you, they don’t take any crap from anyone.  If you do a good job with him, who knows, maybe next Winter’s Veil there might be a stray wyvern cub flapping around needing a home.  Who knows?

 

That’s it for today.  Tomorrow I’ll have a more newsy post up, since I know a lot of you are just waiting with bated breath to hear what my brilliant idea is about the Twilights.