Archive for scourge

Mak’gora, verbal style

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2015 by Garrosh Hellscream

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EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

GARROSH HELLSCREAM

VS.

THRALL

BEGIN!

GARROSH:

I got the Scourge under wraps, so this round won’t be postponed.
Good thing Blackmoore named you Thrall, ’cause you’re about to be owned.
“Green Jesus,” never wrong? You were never warrior-strong –
Now I’ll shove those beads around your neck back up where they belong.
Aedelas gave you training; Taretha gave you sympathy;
I won’t say what Jaina gave you, but it’s BoP.
You might as well call yourself human, how you were shaped and apprenticed;
All you need’s some beige paint and a trip to the dentist.
Your reign as Warchief was a joke, and you are as well:
Every time I hear your name, I Go’EL-OH-EL.
You left me picking up your mess, and then I watched you leave it:
You failed to serve the Horde – now I’ll crush you beneath it. 

THRALL:

Too often since I went away I’ve heard tell of your crimes,
And I don’t know what disappoints me more: you or your rhymes.
I led the orcs from enslavement to the land we inhabit;
I only made one mistake – and I’m looking at it.
You’re not worthy of your line, you’re twisted as an ampersand;
You’re rhymes are weak and I won’t cheer, but I might give you a big hand.
You’ll keep losing your supporters and the lands you used to hold;
From your mailbag to your reign, you just keep on getting trolled.
So when they finally lead you off bound with chains and rope,
Where you’re going, drop some rhymes – but watch you don’t drop the soap.
I was blind to your crimes, but now you’ve gone past the line;
Now it’s time you finally answered— 

[Thrall hurls the Doomhammer at Garrosh; before it reaches him, though, Orgrim Doomhammer leaps in and catches it.]

ORGRIM:

                                             Yeah, I think this is mine.
Step aside for a real Warchief; challenge me, you’re going to lose.
You might wear my battle armor, but you could never fill my shoes.
Blackhand left our people pinned under Gul’dan’s thumb;
I showed a race enslaved that they could overcome;
I thought that you were fated to hold fast what we created,
But the going got unstable, and the unstable abdicated.
You made a half-assed call not knowing what the pros and cons were;
You played Frankenstein, then washed your hands of your monster.
And you now, Orcish Karloff – you plagued our kind like a pox,
And locked away our people’s hopes inside a heart-shaped box.
We both tried to tear an Anduin limb from unskilled limb,
Only mine was an adult – and I actually killed him.
Your challenge was a waste of time; you should have withdrawn it,
’Cause I own you both like the city that’s got my name written on it. 

[The wall behind them crumbles to reveal a makeshift Dark Portal, through which Blackhand emerges.]

BLACKHAND:

You people must be joking; now you might as well bounce,
Because you’re never trounce the one and only Warchief who counts.
The first to be crowned, rhyming fury unbound;
I built a mighty war machine – you ran it into the ground.
Well I’m back – I was the first, the best to rally orcish masses,
Now I’ll T.H. White Once-and-Future on your asses.
I’m unimpressed, Orgrim, with the rhymes you’ve busted.
Now I’ll correct my one mistake: thinking you could be trusted.
Our bond was iron, loyalty withstanding any test;
Your oath was what a noob picks through on an Outland quest.
So bring it on, Backstabber, and I’ll swat you right back;
You pose no threat; you’d better bet the pimp Hand is Black.

ORGRIM:

You want to take me on, Blackhand? You’d best hope for luck,
’Cause you only ever beat me in a timeline that sucks.
Lust for power kept you dreaming, so you were blind to Gul’dan’s scheming,
Then you followed Hellscream’s lead and sold us out to the demons.
You were Warchief in name, but power? Every last ounce’ll
Dribble down to you for show, straight from the Shadow Council.
It wasn’t till I took command that the First War was won—

BLACKHAND:

And then you led us to internment – yeah, nice work there, son.

THRALL:

We led the orcs back from the fall your madness brought on;
You may be Medivh’s king, but you were Gul’dan’s pawn.
You were a figurehead at best, with a fel employer;
It was only to your own kind that you were the Destroyer.
Oh, but since you mention sons, yours tried to demand
That he should rule, but he got his – by the Warchief’s command.

BLACKHAND:

Oh, look, the junior partner – sad you’re what would become of us;
No surprise, though; like your father, you were never really one of us.
Go play dress-up all you want; fish for praise but you won’t get it,
You just let others do the work and then swoop in to take the credit.
I earned my place as the greatest, and that glory will last—

GARROSH:

At least till Metzen gets another retcon hair up his ass…

BLACKHAND:

Yes, let’s get to you, pox boy, we’ll finish this quickly.
You’ve got rhymes like your childhood: rejected and sickly.
You couldn’t even finish this sad son of Durotan’s –
You should have Bane’d his back in half when you had the chance.
Captain Hammer here’s weak, but he still brought you ruination—

GARROSH:

That’s only ’cause I didn’t gem plot armor penetration.
Now you two old-school has-beens, watch your legacies unravel;
You’re done and gone (except for maybe FUCKING TIME TRAVEL).
My line is stuff of legends; your alias is famed –
They must have thought you’re Tom Riddle, ’cause you couldn’t be named.
I own my every call, each choice a notch in my own belt;
You couldn’t be more of a puppet if they’d made you out of felt.
I’m triumphant and a hero! I’ve slain humans, drakes, and liches!
I ride a wyvern that’s more badass than any of you bitches!
The greatest Warchief of them all, from the last to the first –
Epic mount, epic name, epic life, EPIC VERSE!

 

WHO WON?

WHO’S NEXT?

YOU DECIDE!

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EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

 

[A quick two-part programming note: First, keep those suggestions coming!  While they will no longer be a regular weekly feature (because, whew, these are hard to write on a tight schedule!), I may still sprinkle them into the blog now and again, if these great suggestions keep coming in and people seem to be enjoying them.

Second — I’ve decided to push Garrosh’s next mailbag from this coming Monday to the following Monday (May 11), to allow the blog’s “main storyline” events to reach a point where the mailbag will seem less forced.  After this month, we’ll be back to our normal schedule of a mailbag the first Monday of each month.  Keep those letters coming!]

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And, if we turn a blind eye to who’s still around canonically…

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2015 by Garrosh Hellscream

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EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

VAROK SAURFANG

VS.

THE LICH KING

BEGIN!

LICH KING:

I find the irony delightful and the arrogance sublime
For you to hope in my domain that you could wield the coldest rhymes.
You’ll learn the meaning of fear now, and the chill of the grave;
Not a soul is going to help you – they’re all trapped in my blade.
Every foe that I defeat is a new minion to employ;
You say you named him Dranosh – do you miss your little boy?
I kill fathers and sons; I’ve already slayed the Younger.
Now it’s dinner time, orc…and Frostmourne hungers.

SAURFANG:

You can save your strangulation, its rotation’s gonna switch,
For it seems that Varok Saurfang’s going to have to choke a lich.
Your runeblade has a name and people tremble while beholding;
You know why they fear my axe? It’s the one Saurfang is holding.
Sucking souls; your own: unneeded. Uther’s warning went unheeded.
You might once have been the heir, but you never once succeeded.
You’re the king of Frozen Thrones, but your chilling’s getting thawed,
’Cause I’m the one both factions turn to when they need to kill a god.

LICH KING:

<channeling a spell>
I’d stay to slay you, orc, but there’re things I need to do.
Falric! Marwyn! Bring me his corpse when you’re through.

[The Lich King summons Falric and Marwyn, then exits up a hallway.]

FALRIC:

By your order, my liege!

MARWYN:

                                             This invader shall fall!

FALRIC:

Now your humble soldiers rise to meet their master’s call.
Your despair is so delicious and your fear exhilarating.
Your reputation might precede you, but it’s textbook overrating.
It’s two against one orc and even you can do the math:
Your fate will be no different – none are spared the master’s wrath.

MARWYN:

When the master ravaged Stratholme we were standing by his side,
And we saw the look Terenas made that moment as he died.
Your rhymes are weak as Silvermoon when master went attacking.
Now we’ve surveyed our enemy, and we have found him lacking.

SAURFANG:

I don’t waste my time on red-shirts but since Arthas had to leave,
Come at me, boys, in double file – now eat my verbal
                                                                  CLEAVE.

While your king walks afar
                                     You others cover and flock
To spar, but I’ll knock ajar
                                         One and another and block – so far
Your knocks may shock on par
                                         To smother and sock and scar
But your talk and mocks won’t mar
                                              The brother of Broxigar.
You took all your best shots but every one of them missed;
You’re getting schooled, children –

[Saurfang cleaves both Falric and Marwyn’s heads off with one swing.]

                                                     Now class is dismissed.

[Saurfang heroic leaps into the next room, where the Lich King is holding Jaina Proudmoore and Sylvanas Windrunner at bay.]

You don’t get away that easy, no escape from pending loss;
I just took out the trash, so now you’d better be a boss.
Orc dictator, human traitor, “See you later,” what a “hero.”
So you run, “Now we are one,” but when I’m done, you will be zero.

LICH KING:

No questions stay unanswered; you’re the answer to my plans;
For clearly yours are verses greatest of the also-rans —
You know your place, I’ll grant you, rallied by your leader’s pennant:
Such a hero, such a legend, such a permanent lieutenant.
If ambition drove your mission, its commission might unnerve us,
But you’ve cleared the way, and now you’ll stay forever in my service:
Dead, deployed, to destroy, like your son with death to bring:
In the last, when you’ve passed, you will all serve the king.

 

WHO WON?

WHO’S NEXT?

YOU DECIDE!

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EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

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.”

Spare the rod, spoil the Helcular

Posted in General with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 10, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So Helcular wasn’t exactly the most help in the world.  I’m not sure if he’s just been sort of batshit ever since he was raised as undead from the Southshore graveyard a few years back, or if he was always kind of unstable, or what, but dude could not stay on topic for all his flipping out and panicking about what had happened down at the ruins.  To be fair, I suppose being at ground zero of some freakish anti-necromantic explosion that took out most of your team, and just barely escaping from having the unlife sucked clean out of you yourself, well, I guess I can see how that might freak you out.  And Helcular being a mage, and kind of a bookish one at that, I can see how he might not exactly be the battle-tested kind of guy who deals with adversity well.

But DUDE, I can’t POSSIBLY overstate how much he was spazzing out over everything.  Could not keep him on topic for more than thirty seconds at a time, so I spent practically the whole conversation having to slap him around to try to get him back on track.  Now granted, I probably didn’t help matters when Kaal arrived with an update from Southshore, and I let him give his report in front of Helcular.  Turns out, those shimmery purple lines are still expanding outward – slowly enough that you can’t notice it with the naked eye, but still moving and stretching little by little, apparently gravitating toward other centers of necromantic energy.  As in, places where there are lots of undead.  So eventually – slowly, but eventually – this thing is going to spread.

Which as you can imagine, is just what panicky jittery Captain Freak-Out Hercular needed to hear, and yeah, a few more beatings ensued to get him to stop fluttering about.  Eventually, after enough enforced focus to make my frigging hands sore, I was able to drag this much out of him: Helcular used to live in Southshore, where he knew Kel’Thuzad back in his pre-lich days, and had studied necromancy under him.  Because nothing could go wrong there, as we all know.  But he couldn’t think of anything they could have done that could have had a hand in what’s happened – the training and practice he did in the vicinity of the town was all small-potatoes stuff, and from what he could remember, Kel’Thuzad kept his distance whenever he was doing anything major.  He did remember one point some years back, though, when a bunch of people from the Knights of the Silver Hand were hanging around the town.  They were being pretty hush-hush, but were still attracting enough attention that he could remember strangers turning up in the town and lurking around snooping on them…so there’s a fair chance they were up to something.  And considering how those paladins wound up taking an interest in the Scourge, it sounds like there’s at least enough of a possible link to be worth following up on.

And again, let me just stress that pretty much every sentence of that was spread out over two of three smackings and a frustrated “Man, will you PLEASE try to pull yourself the fuck TOGETHER?”

Anyway, though, we’ve got another lead to follow, even though I’m not exactly thrilled where it’s leading.  But, I’ve already had Eitrigg send a message up to Hearthglen in the Western Plaguelands, and I’m getting ready to head north.  Not going to lie to you, I’m not looking forward to this at all, but it’s our best in with the Silver Hand, so I guess I’m going to need to go have a sit-down with Tirion Fordring.

Remembrance of the dead

Posted in EPIC VERSE, General, Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 26, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

log

You have logged on.

[Guild][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Well what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

[Guild][ProfHubert]  if we only had a silver piece for every time one of us has said that lol

[Guild][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Greetings, Warchief.

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Evening, Sylvanas

[Guild][ProfHubert]  hello sir

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Who’s this guy?

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | SylvanasMaster Apothecary Faranell, one of my aides here in the Undercity.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  He had asked about the guild while you were busy this week.

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Hey Prof

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  We didn’t want to bother you with it while you were doing more important things, so we decided to go ahead and invite him.

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Welcome to the guild

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Hopefully that’s all right with you, Warchief.

[Guild][ProfHubert]  thank you sir

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Yeah, that’s fine

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  You guys can go ahead and invite people if you’re pretty comfortable with them

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  You’re sure about who this guy is, right?

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Oh hey, Prof, based on your name, are you playing the teacher class too?

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Yes, sir.  I see him in person on a daily basis.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Okay, good

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I want to start being more careful screening people coming into the guild

[Guild][ProfHubert]  no, actually this character is a zookeeper

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Of course, sir.

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Yeah?  You don’t see too many of those around

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Did you get my message about the plague?

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Yes, sir, this morning.  I was actually just passing word on to Faranell to put a halt to any further experiments.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Fortunately we had only just recommenced our tests, as our attempts to work on a new plague had, of course, been shelved for quite some time.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Yeah, good

[Guild][ProfHubert]  i noticed that yes

[Guild][ProfHubert]  all the animals in the game are so mundane, i thought i might be able to find a way to enhance some of the breeds

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I was just too angry for my own good when I gave you the go-ahead for that

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  But then you probably already realize that

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Understandable, Warchief.

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Can you do that?

[Guild][ProfHubert]  we’ll find out, won’t we

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Are you dealing with matters a bit better now?

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I’m not sure what would count as “better”

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  True.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I’m going to head back to Nagrand in a day or two to spend a little time

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Visit Greatmother, that kind of thing

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Probably wise, indeed.

[Guild][ProfHubert]  brb

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Of course in a perfect world I would intercept you-know-who on my way through the Dark Portal

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  If I might offer a word of advice, Warchief.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  What’s that?

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | SylvanasYour anger at Magatha Grimtotem is certainly justified, but I would urge you not to let your desire for vengeance to preoccupy your thoughts too greatly.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  I know only too well what it’s like to crave revenge against an enemy above all else.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I know all about you and Arthas, Sylvanas

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  With all due respect, Warchief, I truly doubt that you do.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  But you’re right, insofar as avenging myself on the Lich King occupied nearly my every thought for quite some time.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Worked out for you I’d say

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  You got to see him dead

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Yes.  And then I found myself with the minor dilemma of what else to think about.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  If I might make a suggestion, Warchief.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  This should be good

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  No one would dispute that Magatha’s actions were monstrous, or that her motives were vile.  You are right to be angry, and should fate present the opportunity, it is just that she should be called to account.  This much is beyond contention.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  In the interim, however, I would merely suggest attempting to focus less on what she took from you, and more on what she unwittingly gave.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  The fuck are you talking about, what she gave?

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Warchief, I’m certain that I do not need to tell you I am no stranger to loss.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard about the story about the Scourge in Quel’thalas a thousand times, Sylvanas

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  There is that, yes.  Countless numbers of my friends and family died that day.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I mean, not to make light, but yeah

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  But even before the Scourge invasion…

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  You may or may not recall my dear sister Alleria, Warchief.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  She was part of the Alliance Expedition into Draenor, following the Second War over twenty years ago.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  She disappeared there and has not been seen since.  Even in all the time since the Horde and Alliance have come to frequent Outland, there has been no sign of her.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  She has long since been presumed dead.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Yeah, right, I know

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Look, Sylvanas, I’m sorry about your sister, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Let me put it this way, Warchief.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Do you know – do you have even the faintest idea – what I would give to have one more day with her?

[Guild][ProfHubert]  dark lady

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Ah…

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Magatha’s deception was odious, Garrosh, beyond question, but Lakkara’s return, though illusory in one important sense, was also very much real.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  From everything I gather, her spirit was not a hallucination, or a glamour, or a fabrication.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  It really was her, albeit a spirit and not flesh and blood.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  And for several days, you were able to be with your mother again.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  You were able to talk with her and hear her respond.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  You were able to see her face light up with pride as you showed her the man her boy had grown up to become.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  For all that’s despicable about Magatha’s doings and for all the rightful hatred you feel for her, Warchief, that much was a gift.

[Guild][ProfHubert]  sylvanas?

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  I would simply urge you not to lose sight of that.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Hmm. Maybe, I guess…

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  One moment, Warchief.

[GilbertRose | Dontrag] has logged on.

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Hey Utvoch.

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  no its dontrag sir

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  but hello sir

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Crap, mixed you up again, sorry

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  I even have that mod to try to keep you straight, too

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  dont worry about it sir, we get it all the time

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Don’t know what it is with you two

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  guess we just have one of those faces

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Um…I can’t actually see your faces here, Dontrag

[ProfHubert] has logged off.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Warchief, I’m afraid I need to go for a bit. We have something of a situation here.

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  huh thats true

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  What’s going on?

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  weird

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  I’ll update you once I’ve had a chance to check on it myself, Warchief.  Perhaps nothing.  We shall see.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  At any rate, have a good trip to Nagrand if I do not see you again before that.

[Officer][LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas]  Take care, Garrosh.

[LivinDeadGrl | Sylvanas] has logged off.

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Okay, thanks, Sylvanas

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  And I’m talking to no one

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  so whats up sir

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Literally

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Not a lot, Dontrag

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  La la la no one here but me, la la la stuck talking to a moron in /g

[Officer][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Oh what the hell

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  oh ok

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  There once was a dwarf from Mudsprocket

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Who helped goblins work on their rocket

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  He tried to match wits

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  With two orcs, heads o’ shits,

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  Until, throwing hands up, cried “O fock it!”

[Guild][Omgipwnedurface | Garrosh]  EPIC VERSE!

[Guild][GilbertRose | Dontrag]  i don’t get it

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The Last Stands of Sylvanas

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 13, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

So, a little late, I know, but here it is, this week’s second (belated Thursday) installment of EPIC VERSE in Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge!  Featuring the return of everyone’s favorite Argent Gossip Girl, Argent Confessor Paletress.  As always, comment away with suggestions and idea for next week’s MASTERPIECES.

 

Hi again,
Garrosh, friend.
Hope you’re doing fine.
What brings you
Here anew?
I see that you brought wine.
 
Hold on, now.
I know how
You made me talk last time.
I’m still mad
At how bad
I spilled my guts (in rhyme!).
 
I refuse!
’Twas with booze
You got me to tell.
Whatcha got?
Jello shots?
Oh, well, what the hell.
 

*  *  *  *  *

 
The Dark Lady passed through here,
In the Lich King’s final year.
   Sought advice
   Once or twice
From – guess who – truly yours.
From our talks we grew aware
Of just how much, in fact, we share,
   Like our urge
   To purge the Scourge.
(And sometimes dress like whores.)
 
Still her memories recur
Of life as Ranger Windrunner,
   When the doom
   Of Silvermoon
Left all appearing lost.
Last defender, there she stood;
Fight with her last breath she would.
   Pain was fine:
   Buy them time
She would at any cost.
 
There she took her final breath;
They raised a banshee in undeath –
   Could not kill
   Her iron will:
As strong now as it had been.
Summoned up her fallen brothers,
Lordaeron’s lost souls, and others,
   Bore their pain,
   Broke their chains,
And hacked the Lich King’s admin.
 
Years have passed and foes have died,
Fruitlessly Sylvanas tried
   To soothe chagrin
   For zombie kin
From all the blows they’d taken.
Cursed and scorned and plagued with doubt –
Damn the world that shut them out!
   In her care
   Her children there
Would never be forsaken.
 
When at last the Lich King fell,
Banished to the blackest hell,
   Off alone
   To Frozne Throne
Sylvanas made her trek.
Arthas’ final demise
She would confirm with her own eyes;
   And so higher
   To the spire
She ventured up to check.
 
It was true; her foe was gone;
His broken corpse she spat upon,
   But the hole
   In her soul:
It felt an endless void.
For so long her single thought
Was bringing Menethil to naught;
   Now the task
   Was done at last
And she was unemployed.
 
All her past she dwelled upon,
Shining elvish future gone,
   Time she slept:
   Off she lept
And fell toward deadly spikes.
But before she fell to night,
Self-impaled on saronite,
   Near would sing
   Val’kyr wings
And stave off the last strike.
 
Val’kyr visions was she granted,
Of a future disenchanted:
   Her adored
   By the Horde
Were marshaled out as fodder.
Unprotected, now she’d seen,
Left without their Banshee Queen,
   With a haste
   Went to waste
Before worgen marauders.
 
Her Forsaken children, cherished:
She could not leave them to perish.
   Made a deal,
   And, surreal,
Returned to her unlife.
Bound now to the scheming Val’kyr,
Brought them to her home locale here,
   To begin
   To watch her kin
And guard them from the strife.
 
I remember when we spoke,
The elf who bent but never broke,
   How she knew
   What she’d do
Would carry heavy cost.
For her people to stay whole,
Someone had to pay their soul:
   No defers;
   ’Twould be hers –
It was already lost.
 
All her elvish life she’d said
She’d fight to wipe out the undead;
   Tables turned:
   Living spurned:
Now she would forswear it.
No more kindred’s anguished cries;
Not one more, on her watch, dies.
   Tortured, pained,
   Conscience stained:
For them, she will bear it.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Hey, hold on!
Liquor’s gone?
Then the story’s done!
Go restock;
That would rock.
And then we’ll have more fun.
 
One last dose,
One last toast
To Sylvanas’ sorrow.
Not undead,
But man, my head:
I’ll pay for this tomorrow.
 
No, you wag,
No Jaina gag.
No more lurid defection.
(Although, she’d seen
The Banshee Queen
In the Halls of Reflection…)

 

EPIC VERSE!

Monday mailbag

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

mail22

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.