Letters from a Shattered World

Hope

2011-11-30T23:50:00.000-08:00

Hope.

Hope never dies.

I remember those words from my childhood, father. Even before I swore our sacred oath, I can recall sneaking into the Cathedral to watch you and the other crusaders, to get a glimpse of what awaited me when I was older. I vividly remember your friend, the man who used to say this, standing atop the rostrum, facing the assembled knights and paladins before him.

Alexandros Mograine was his name. He was a good man. A holy man, dedicated to eradicating the Scourge. I looked up to him, just as I did to you. I vowed that when I grew up, I would follow in the footsteps of heroes like you two, and devote my life to righteousness.

I still remember asking you, when I was a few years older and Mograine had passed, what the phrase actually meant. I didn't yet understand why the Crusade was so committed to our holy purpose, or comprehend the magnitude of our objectives.

"It means...it means we must never give up," you said, an odd wistfulness in your eyes. "Everything I do, everything I fight for...it is for you. All of us who wear the flame, we fight the undead because it is the right thing to do, but we also fight to make this world a brighter place for you, our children. It is our deepest wish that future generations will be able to walk this land free from fear, forever safe from the horrors of the Scourge.

"My sword will never falter, my arms will never tire in this fight, for I fight for tomorrow, for the new dawn that has yet to crest the horizon, full of limitless light and happiness. I fight for the new day, where shadows will not lurk around every corner, where children will not fear the monsters in the darkness.

I fight for the future...for peace. I fight for you, my daughter, so that you will not have to. You are the pure, the innocent. You are my hope, Lynnia."

It wasn't until after you died that I started to grasp what you had meant, father. Brigitte was beside herself with grief, but I saw the look on her face when we laid your body to rest in the Hall of Champions. I watched her take that grief and sorrow and turn it into an iron determination to live up to your name, to carry on your ideals, and to protect our family like you would have done.

As much as I grieved to lose you, father, I was so proud of her. She has never looked back, and has gone on to become one of our order's most celebrated, devoted champions. Her commitment to the Light was surpassed only by her intensity. Though she was the youngest of our commanders, she never let them push her around or exclude her from critical decisions. She was just like she always had been - fiery, fierce and unflinching. I could not ask for a stronger, more valiant sister.

She was everything you could have hoped for, father.

We spent a great deal of time together, whenever her duties permitted, talking about the order, about her many successful missions, about my life in the Monastery. It is only during these private times that I sometimes caught a glimpse of her tender, vulnerable side. She hid it very well.

For all her success and rapid rise through our ranks, it was easy to forget that Brigitte was only a few years older than myself. She maintained her bold, confident front in public, but I could tell that sometimes it wore on her, the pressure of living up to your expectations, of carrying on our name.

Secretly, I do not think she ever really forgave herself for your death. I sometimes heard her late at night when she thought no one else was around, chastising and berating herself over her carelessness, blaming herself for not seeing that Scourge ghoul rushing in, its blade bared.

I tried talking to her and explaining that it was not her fault, that your sacrifice should be remembered for your death, but for your heroism...but I don't she ever listened.

I also sometimes worried that she pushed herself too hard, but whenever I brought it up she would simply shake her head and insist that as long as the Scourge still threatened humanity, she could not rest. After all, you wouldn't have.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Ever since mother died, she had always been stubbornly responsible. I remember how she used to look out for me and protect me when I was little. With you gone, I think she felt even more accountable for my safety, since it was just the two of us now.

With the increasing presence of the Scourge in Tirisfal, Brigitte decided that remaining at the Monastery was too dangerous, and so we traveled east to one of the last remaining bastions of purity in those scarred lands, untouched by undeath or plague - the Scarlet Enclave.

Together with High Abbot Landgren, Commander Marjhan and Lord Valdelmar, Brigitte fortified the towns of Tyr's Hand, Havenshire and New Avalon, and rallied the populace under the Scarlet banner. The Scourge footprint here in the east was weak and disorganized - the monsters roamed the hills unchecked, but they were scattered and disjointed. The Enclave stood bold and proud, a beacon of light amidst a sea of evil.

But then...the citadel arrived. And as the Lich King's terrible champions swarmed over New Avalon, butchering civilians and crusader alike, Brigitte knew the Crusade could not sit back and wait any longer. The horns of war had sounded, calling us north to the tyrant's chill domain. Our only hope for peace would be to follow, so that we might put an end to the Scourge's blight, once and for all.

Brigitte gathered the strongest and most faithful from our ranks to join her in this holy crusade. Many, like myself, wanted to go, but were told that we must stay behind to carry on the Crusade's legacy if the expedition should fail. She was truly in her element, father - bold, inspiring...she seemed invincible.

I prayed for her safety every night, and asked the Light to watch over her. My imagination ran wild with thoughts of the undead horrors and savage beasts that awaited her in Northrend. I knew she was strong, that she could take care of herself. And she had brought the Crusader's strongest, most devout champions with her. They would purify and cleanse this world of the Scourge's awful taint, then return home to be celebrated as saviors.

I doubted they needed my help, but I still prayed. I figured the extra help couldn't hurt. And it was all I could do for them.

But father, I should have focused my attention closer to home. For deep within our ranks, within the heart of the Crusade, lurked a nightmare beyond our wildest imaginations.

Father, you remember the venerable Grand Crusader Dathrohan? One of your staunchest friends, and most trusted companions. The heart and pillar of the order. I will always remember his kind, gentle face smiling down at me when I underwent my initiation and swore my oaths.

Everything he did was a lie.

It wasn't actually the Grand Crusader, father. It was a monstrous demon who called himself Balnazzar. He had walked among us for years, manipulating us, playing the Crusade like pawns in some sickening chess game.

I suppose I shouldn't blame myself for not recognizing the threat. How could I? He fooled everyone, even the older members of the order who were good friends with the Grand Crusader, such as yourself and Alexandros.

Still...if only I had noticed. Perhaps I could have done something. Warned someone. Told someone of what lurked among us.

Maybe we could have stopped him.

I wish I could say that we discovered the demon's identity on our own, father, after we had cornered him and cleansed us from his corrupting hand. But this was not the case. Once Brigitte and the rest of the order's warriors set sail for Northrend, the thing calling itself the Grand Crusader made its move.

I...cannot even describe exactly what the monster did, but every remaining person in the Enclave, from the youngest squire to the most grizzled, war-hardened veteran, felt a deathly chill fall over us. It was like every muscle in my body was clenching and seizing at the same time, rigid with agony, sawing through my sanity. I know I was screaming, but I could not hear myself, for all of Tyr's Hand was crying out with me.

Finally, blissfully, I felt the last ounce of strength leave my body. I collapsed to the floor and waited for oblivion...but it did not come.

His blasphemous sorcery...it had done what the Scourge could not. In the ultimate act of cruelty, Balnazzar had given form to a Scarlet Crusader's worst nightmare.

He had risen us from the dead.

A few of our warriors threw off their shock and moved to strike the demon down, but he just laughed and waved a hand. Suddenly, against our will, we found ourselves kneeling before him, unable to even lift our heads without his consent. He labeled us as his Risen...his own loyal brigade of soldiers who would battle his enemies for him.

And father...it wasn't just Grand Crusader Dathrohan. The field gleefully revealed that some of the Crusaders who had ventured north were like him, demons wearing human skin. Their goal? To sabotage our forces from the inside, and after they had been sufficiently expended and weakened, cripple our army by cutting down the commanders...such as Brigitte.

The city is in shock, father. We are trapped in our own sanctuary. Some of us still maintain the traditional patrols or day-to-day habits out of a dazed denial of our fate. But every time I look into a mirror, I see only a pale, withered face with torn skin stretched tightly over exposed bone staring back at me. He made us into monsters, father. Abominations. Travesties against the Light's natural beauty.

I spent every day deep in prayer to the Light. I still tell myself that I have faith, that perhaps a cure can one day be found. But in reality, I simply don't know what else to do. I am lost.

You are dead. My friends are dead. My beloved sister lies murdered in the icy north, betrayed by her own trusted companions, miles from home. The order I believed in, that I devoted my life to, has become a twisted mockery of its former glory, corrupted by demonic treachery and the terrible curse of undeath.

And the Light...the Light has abandoned us to our misery.

Hope never dies. That is what you always said, father.

I am Lynnia, proud daughter of Markus Abbendis, loving sister of Brigitte Abbendis.

I am a Scarlet Crusader.

I am the future. I am the dawn that will never arrive, the tomorrow that will never come.

I am the Fallen Hope.

Father...

...

You were wrong.

Show/Hide Letter Notes
This was the very first Cataclysm Letter I wanted to do. One of the first things I did after the Shattering hit was, for some reason, tour around the Plaguelands. I spent some time entertained by Gidwin and Tarenar, and then for some reason, ended up at Tyr's Hand, poking around and marveling at these new mysterious undead, called the Risen.

And then I found Lynnia Abbendis.

If I could define my ideal subject for a letter, it would be her. She's not a quest mob or story-relevant NPC or anything, being just a rare spawn (she actually replaces the old Abbendis rare spawn mob, which we now know was Brigitte Abbendis). But despite this, she has incredible plot and lore hooks.

First of all, ABBENDIS? Being a Scarlet Crusade member, she's clearly related in some way to Brigitte Abbendis and her unnamed father. Is she Brigitte's sister? Her daughter? What? We have no idea. But we do know the Silver Hand/Scarlet Crusade like to train their children to follow in their footsteps (see: Tirion Fordring, Alexandros Mograine, etc.), so the sudden appearance of another Abbendis is eye-opening, but not totally surprising.

But her title? Now that's getting somewhere. The Fallen Hope. That just SCREAMS anguish and despair. And how utterly appropriate, not just for the Scarlet Crusade (who is on its last legs in Cataclysm), but also for that particular branch of Scarlets, who have been corrupted into their worst nightmares, undead abominations.

Finally, what really sold me on Lynnia was that when you find her, she's not patrolling around or doing anything normal like that.

She's praying.

Wow. Now this was an amazing story, just waiting to be told.

So many questions! Who is she? Why didn't she go to Northrend with Brigitte? Why is she called The Fallen Hope? Why is she praying? Does she still retain her faith, even after Balnazzar turned them into undead?

It's all incredibly powerful potential.

I figured Brigitte wasn't old enough for Lynnia to be her daughter, and Lynnia became a sister. Probably a younger sister, too young and pure to go off to war with Brigitte, who was dedicated to filling their father's footsteps. So Lynnia would stay behind, where it was safe...or so they thought.

But what about their title? Was Lynnia, in life, someone's "hope"?

Ah, of course. What else would their father, and now, Brigitte, fight for with such fervor and dedication, but for the sake of the baby of the family? They hated the undead, yes, but what if the real reason they fought was to make the world a better, safer place for little Lynnia? You always hear a father or mother in fantasy tell their child how they are their sun, their redemption...their hope. It was all starting to come together.

But wait a minute. All this talk about hope. Wasn't there another famous Silver Hand champion who was always talking about hope? Oh that's right...it's the person who featured in the very first Letter I wrote, last year. Alexandros Mograine, and his inspirational line uttered to his son Darion: "Hope never dies."

It's a moving, emotional line, especially when you consider what Alexandros and Darion were both willing to sacrifice for each other. But what if Alexandros didn't just say it to Darion? What if he often said it to inspire his fellow Silver Hand (later Scarlet Crusade) allies? And what if one of those allies, Brigitte and Lynnia's father, was so moved by it, he started using it himself, saying it to his men? To his children?

What would Lynnia say to him now?

Still, Lynnia retains her faith, even when her father is dead, her sister is dead, and she's been reanimated by a demon in a cruel mockery of her former beliefs. Maybe the Light will still save her...eventually.

I don't suspect we'll hear anything else from Lynnia, but then again, you never know. I'd love it if she were to show up in Mists of Pandaria, with Heroic Scarlet Monastery.

She didn't have any story, plot hooks, or even dialogue, but damn if Lynnia Abbendis didn't win me over. Her story - or lack thereof - is exactly the type of raw gem I had in mind when I started the Letters. I couldn't ask for a more appropriate person to end with.

First Aid on My Heart

2011-11-30T12:10:00.000-08:00

Patch 4.3 Undocumented Changes:
Angela Leifeld has replaced Shaina Fuller as Stormwind's First Aid Trainer.

Jarl Thelonius Benedictus,

I've had enough of your games, mister. You've been acting really funny lately, and I'm not going to let you play with my heart any longer. I'm beginning to think you're hiding things from me. I thought we had something really special, but you can't build a loving relationship without honesty.

I'm really hurt, hun. We've known each other for years, ever since you arrived in Stormwind all those years ago. I can still remember it vividly. You, a young, handsome priest rising quickly through the Church's hierarchy; me, a young nurse-in-training, studying to become a practiced medical assistant.

We locked eyes as Archbishop Faol was showing you around, and the blush that shot through your cheeks was so adorable. I thought it was cute, the way you hurriedly looked away and tried to concentrate on what Faol was saying, while still shooting me the occasional furtive glance when you thought I wasn't looking. You made it very hard for me to focus on my studies that day, that's for sure!

I was so pleased when the Cathedral of Light was finished, for as a full-time nurse, it meant I would be stationed nearby! I was hoping we could chat and get to know each other a little better. And you felt the same way! It was like fate had put us together, Jarl.

Of course, we had to keep our passion a secret. It wouldn't reflect well on the Church if it got out that the Archbishop was having a torrid romance with one of his understudies!

It wasn't easy, considering how public our respective occupations were. After all, you have been busy being Stormwind's spiritual leader, preaching the Light's doctrine and protecting Stormwind from horrible Elementals hell-bent on destroying the city. And I've been busy teaching people how to wrap scraps of linen around their cuts to stop the bleeding.

Truly, it is a thankless life we lead!

It was all worth it, though. It felt so nice just being near you every day, seeing your smiling face as you spoke to your many visitors and gave them your blessing. And I certainly enjoyed our private...sermons, when the Cathedral was quiet and we could sneak away to one of the back rooms for a few minutes. For a faithful believer of the Holy Light and an advocate of non-violence, you sure know how to use that staff of yours.

But you've been acting kinda strange lately. You've been rather distant and distracted. At first I assumed it was just stress, what with the King sending our soldiers off to war. I know how deeply you care about all of Stormwind's people, so I figured you were just having a rough time of it.

Then when you started leaving town, for "Holy missions", I couldn't help but notice that you tended to be much happier when you returned. You seemed refreshed, revitalized, with a glint in your eye and a newfound spring in your step. Whatever these missions were, they were having a very nice effect on you! I was relieved, even if I got pretty lonely whenever you were gone.

However, you've been getting these "missions" more and more frequently. I started wondering if there was something else going on here. Something you're not telling me? You seem all secretive and evasive whenever I ask you to tell me about these missions, brusquely telling me that they're "top secret" and then changing the subject. Furthermore, a few weeks ago I found little scraps of crumpled up paper in your wastebasket, with unusual names and places jotted down in your handwriting.

Jarl, are you seeing someone else?

I've been telling myself that no, I'm just being silly, but I'm really starting to think you're cheating on me. :( It's not only your mysterious absences and how uncomfortable you get when I bring them up, but you also get so restless and irritable now when you're back at the Cathedral, like you can't wait until the next time you can leave.

But last night was the last straw, Jarl. It was late at night, but I couldn't sleep because I'd been thinking about all of this. I was headed to your room to snuggle a bit when I heard you talking to someone in the antechamber - about a WOMAN!

I stood there in shock, out of sight, and heard how you were going to leave in a few days to go see some girl named Kiri. And then, to my shock, you started talking about how she was pregnant! And how you were THE FATHER! You bastard!

Who is this Kiri, Jarl? And what does she mean to you?! Are you having a secret tryst with her? Is she some elf trollop you've got secreted away somewhere, or maybe a draenei? What, am I too plain and mundane for you now? You've got to go out and check out the exotic options?

Tell me, Jarl! How could you do this to me!

You know, I thought I smelled something funny on you when you got back, the other week! It was a sweet, exotic scent, something that definitely was not normally found in the Cathedral. I noticed it right away. I even asked you about it, and you just brushed me off, joking that it was "probably the smell of dragon." You ass. A dragon, right. Well now I know the truth!

I'm terribly conflicted right now, Jarl. I went and had coffee with Jaxon today, and asked her what I should do. Part of me wants to climb a rooftop and /yell how we've been seeing each other for years, so that everyone will know what a dog you are. But Jaxon pointed out that while this would be immensely satisfying (and it would be), it would be very cruel to do to all the people who have suffered from this war and are looking to the Church for spiritual support.

Damn that Jaxon, always so practical and level-headed, even when it's not what I wanted to hear.

So I had a good cry and Jaxon cleaned me up a little, and I realized that as much as I would love to drag your name through the dirt, it wouldn't be fair to the rest of Stormwind. But you're not going to get away with this, you weasel. Oh no. Hell hath no fury!

I overheard when and where you were going to go meet up with your precious mistress, so I'm going to follow you and catch you in the act red-handed! I've already packed my things and asked Angela to fill in for me while I'm gone.

We'll see how you like it when the tables are turned! I want to see you and this Kiri tramp squirm!

Vengefully yours,

Show/Hide Letter Notes
When I read the Patch 4.3 Undocumented Changes on Wowpedia today, I was surprised to see "Angela Leifeld has replaced Shaina Fuller as Stormwind's First Aid Trainer." Now, I don't play Alliance, so I had no idea who either of these characters were. But it did strike me as very odd - why was this random, story-less (I checked) First Aid Trainer being replaced, all of a sudden?

Now, the obvious (and likely) reason is that her replacement, Angelia Leifield, is some sort of in-game tribute. As we all know, Blizzard does this quite a bit.

However, wouldn't it be much more amusing to imagine that Shaina actually had a lore reason to vanish? That she hadn't just been replaced, but had left on her own accord?

Well, what possible reason could there be for a First Aid Trainer to pack up her things and leave? Oh, she was in the Cathedral of Light? Say, isn't there someone else from the Cathedral who's ALSO gone "missing" in Patch 4.3? Oh that's right...Archbishop Benedictus, aka the Twilight Father.

The hooks were all there! His personality change, as he became more corrupted/committed to the Twilight Cult cause. His mysterious absences, as he was meeting with the cultists and receiving his orders. The suspicious Kiri, who is of course the blue dragon Kirygosa, who Benedictus imprisons in the Twilight of the Aspects novel.

If Shaina overheard Benedictus talking about how he had to go deal with Kiri, she might totally think he's not actually an undercover agent of evil, but just a horndog who's headed out to meet his mistress. Of course, there's also the fact that Kiri is PREGNANT, and what is Benedictus' title in the Twilight Cult? The Twilight Father. Oh, it was too perfect.

So there you have it. The true story behind Shaina Fuller's inexplicable and unexpected disappearance! Totes canon, yo.

Release

2011-11-29T11:07:00.000-08:00

Thassarian, my "Master."

Where are you, master? Did you fall in battle like poor Lurid, defending this wretched city for your precious Alliance taskmasters? Lurid fought as you commanded, like usual. Human, undead, beast, Lurid fights whatever master tells Lurid to fight. Endlessly fighting, over and over again...Master and Lurid, always.

After all, Lurid is master's loyal servant. Master's trusted bodyguard. Master's tireless companion.

Master's slave.

Lurid did not ask for this "life", master! Lurid fought for the Alliance, for Unit S, and Lurid died bravely. Lurid was sad he died, but Lurid did not regret his choices. Lurid fought for what he believed in. Lurid was content. Lurid was at peace, going to the Light.

But you, master! You wrenched and tugged Lurid back from beyond, jammed Lurid into this monstrous shell of bone and death. And why? To have a battle servant to fight at your side? Master subjected Lurid to this torment simply to have a little undead friend?

Lurid tried to scream, to deny master's command, to beg master not to do this to Lurid. But Lurid was horrified to learn that the evil magic that brought Lurid back to life did not permit disobedience. All that came out of Lurid's gaping, grinning mouth was a simpering, wheedling "Yes, master" or "As you command, master."

Lurid can still think, can still see and hear, but Lurid cannot do anything except what master decrees, nothing more than a soulless, mindless puppet. Luried forced to fight against Lurid's will, do whatever master asks, and Lurid is powerless to resist. It makes Lurid want to curl up in a little ball and cry, but Lurid cannot even do that.

Does master know how awful that is? To have no control or free will - to be simply someone's unthinking, unwilling instrument of destruction?

What a stupid question. Of course master does. Master suffered through this too. Lurid hears the same story every night - master feeling sorry for himself and endlessly moaning about what the dread Lich King did to him. Lurid is so tired of hearing how the Lich King killed master, twisted his soul into an evil minion, how the Lich King forced master to do all sorts of terrible things against master's will. Master hates him, so much, for what he did.

And yet, master is willing to do the exact same thing to Lurid? Lurid doesn't understand. Lurid did not want to become this abomination, to be risen as an undead slave. Lurid simply wanted to rest. Instead, master imprisoned Lurid in this skeletal frame, and doomed Lurid to a horrible fate worse than death.

Master knows what it is like to be a slave. To be a monster. And master went ahead and did it anyway. Why would master make someone else go through this hell? Why would master be so heartless, so cruel? What kind of person would even do that?

Master is the worst person Lurid has ever met.

"Follow me, Lurid," master says. "The Lich King has made us what we are."

No, master! The Lich King did not do this to Lurid. YOU did this to Lurid! You and you alone, all by yourself, following right in the your master's footsteps. Lurid hates you for it, master.

Lurid hate you so much.

Thanks to you, master, Lurid does not even remember who he used to be. Lurid remember being human...fighting in Unit S...but Lurid cannot remember anything else! Lurid cannot even recall his own name. Lurid's memories, thoughts, identity...all gone now. Gone forever. Lurid is simply Lurid, the "name" master gave me.

How many lives has Lurid taken at master's command? Lurid does not even know. Too many to count. Lurid's entire existence has become a dull cycle of death and hate. Nothing else left anymore.

And it seemed like it would never end. Lurid can still remember when, after what seemed like years of being forced to do master's bidding, Lurid thought his blissful end had come. Powerful undead foes overpowered Lurid, and Lurid fell, destroyed and broken into shards of bone and rusted metal. Lurid could have cried with joy. Finally Lurid could rest, and not have to serve cruel, sadistic master any longer.

But Lurid was wrong. Lurid watched in horror as master coldly used his evil magic to piece Lurid back together, and deny Lurid his release once again. Not only that, but master then scolded Lurid like some unruly child! Lurid wanted to spit in master's face, to cut master in half...instead, Lurid's soul withered up inside, as rotted, rattling teeth coughed out pathetic, untrue words of gratitude.

Those words were like daggers in Lurid's soul. Lurid was NOT thankful! Lurid wanted master to die, to just stop torturing Lurid. But master's dark sorcery would not let Lurid even utter the words.

Master, why can't you just let Lurid rest in peace? Lurid has fought and killed for you, Lurid has done everything you have ever commanded. Please master...no more. Every day, as Lurid swing his axe and kill for master, all Lurid wants is to die. Just let Lurid die. Lurid pray for this every day, to any god or presence that might be listening.

However, Lurid may have gotten his wish. Does Lurid dare hope? Is this the end of Lurid's long torment?

Master brought Lurid to some ragged town, lots of fighting, undead, gargoyles, abominations. Lurid so tired inside, but of course master not let Lurid rest, oh no. Lurid thrown into battle again and again. But this time, master not fight alongside Lurid, instead run off. Lurid forced to fight alongside farmers and peasants. Lurid could tell they were as scared of Lurid as they were of the howling undead we fight. Lurid cannot blame them. Lurid's enemies are undead monsters...but so is Lurid.

Many of them fall. Lurid hopes master does not raise them as undead as well. Lurid would not wish this fate upon anyone.

Sadly, Lurid watches as the dead farmers ARE raised as undead. But not to help Lurid - they join Lurid's enemies! There too many for Lurid to kill alone, and they start to overwhelm Lurid. For the first time in years, Lurid feel a tinge of excitement in his empty ribcage. Lurid try to simply stop fighting, to let himself be killed, but wretched master's unholy hold would not allow it.

It didn't matter, though. Lurid was cut down and shattered, splintered on the cold ground. Lurid's foes moved on, leaving Lurid behind to stare up at the murky sky, rain dripping down into Lurid's empty eyesockets. No fighting, no pain. Just emptiness.

Lurid wait long hours for master to return...for master to put Lurid back together like a grotesque child's puzzle, again, as master has done so many times. But long time passes, and Lurid slowly start to wonder if master will be coming after all.

Master, are you dead? Is Lurid finally free of your grasp? Lurid did not expect to still be here, lying immobile in the mud. Lurid thought his soul would have left Lurid's broken body behind by now. Lurid cannot even move...but this is still better than being your slave.

Master, I hope so much that you are dead. Or that you have forgotten about Lurid. Please, Thassarian, please do not come back and enslave Lurid again. Lurid is so tired of fighting, of killing. Go get your revenge, master. Go fight your endless wars. Just leave Lurid out of it.

Let Lurid rest.

Show/Hide Letter Notes
A while back, someone suggested Lurid as a potential Letter candidate. I'd read the Death Knight manga, so I knew who Lurid was, and I knew you also find him dead in Cataclysm after the Andorhol quests, so I started wondering what Lurid would want to say, and to who.

It occurred to me with some unease that Thassarian's relationship with Lurid is actually pretty awful. I mean, Lurid is clearly sentient. He's capable of thinking and speaking, and following orders. And he always seems so adorably gung-ho when you meet up with him in quests, which makes a lot of players really like him, like he's some cute little dog or something.

But when you think about it? Lurid is actually the dead spirit of a fallen soldier, who Thassarian forcibly rose from the dead. And Thassarian forces Lurid to fight for him, and even when Lurid falls in battle, Thassarian simply raises him again.

What a TERRIBLE existence!

And really, is this not exactly what the Lich King was doing? Sure, Lurid seems all cheery and happy and pleasant. But is he really? He's an undead servant, who didn't have any choice about his fate. I doubt he's ACTUALLY pleased. More likely, it's the Scourge magic keeping him obedient and docile, just as it continues to animate his bones. Just like the Lich King's hold over his servants.

I know this probably isn't what my friend had in mind when they suggested Lurid for a Letter. But I think poor Lurid is just as sad a story as his master, if not more so. And no one ever talks about him. They just talk about poor, unfortunate, tragic Thassarian, whose story is oh so terrible and heartbreaking. Meanwhile, poor, loyal Lurid continues to serve (and suffer) in silence, with no one to tell his tale...to tell what he REALLY thinks of his situation.

Don't worry, Lurid. I got your back. (What's left of it...)

The Brothers Mistmantle

2011-11-28T03:49:00.000-08:00

Note: the parchment pages pictured in this Letter are not Stalvan's letters to Tobias, but rather, letters to other people, or Stalvan's private thoughts, at different points in his life. The discrepancies between what Stalvan wrote in these, and what he wrote in the unseen letters to Tobias, which Tobias is responding to, are the point of this Letter.

Dear Stalvan,

Brother, it is so good to hear from you! Headmaster Crillian brought us your letter as soon as it arrived, and mother, father and I all gathered around to hear him read it. He read it twice, no, three times? Now he's helping me write this response. You know me, I never really was one for books and learning and writing - our teachers always did say you were the smart one! Guess they were right!

I must admit, when you first announced you would be traveling south to Stormwind so that you could continue your studies, I was apprehensive. It is such a long journey, especially for someone as young as you! Why, I think the farthest you'd ever been from home before was when we had to take the crops to Lordaeron because father was sick, and that was but a few hours' ride!

But you've definitely proved me wrong, little brother! It's great to hear you've arrived safely. We were all worried about you! Mom and dad have barely slept a wink since you've been gone - no doubt they were traveling the journey with you in their minds, imagining where you were and what you were doing. It's so nice to finally see them relax, knowing you arrived safely and are doing well.

And I bet you didn't expect this, but the whole village is buzzing about your travels! It's not often that someone actually manages to leave little old Pyrewood behind, but you set your heart to it, and by the Light, you did it.

It sounds like this Moonbrook is a nice place! What kind of produce do they grow there? Sorry, I know you wanted to get away from the boring talk of grain and harvests, but father wants to know. Ah, forget that nonsense! He's the only one who gives a crap, anyway.

You're tutoring children, your letter said? That's fantastic! Do they call you Mister Mistmantle? Mister Stalvan? Maybe Uncle Stalvan? You were always so quiet and withdrawn, but maybe being able to help and teach children was what you needed all along. Crillian is beaming, he's really happy his favorite student - wait, his apprentice - has followed in his footsteps.

Looks like all those years you spent with your nose stuck in a book have paid off, huh? Everyone always used to tease you about being a bookworm (even though I always gave them bloody noses for it), but look how things turned out! They're stuck sweating away in the fields, pushing plows and picking radishes, while you've traveled the world and visited faraway lands, gone to the big city and now you're getting your own schoolhouse!

Keep us updated on your life, brother! We're all so proud of you.

-Tobias

Stalvan,

Sorry to hear the Moonbrook thing didn't work out. Crillian brought us your latest letter, which said you'd had to relocate to Goldshire because of some unfortunate events in Westfall. That's really too bad, I know how excited you were about being able to teach in your own schoolhouse. But there'll be other opportunities, just wait.

Is everything alright? We don't really hear much news of what's going on down there, just the odd whispered rumor in the Lordaeron marketplace. Father caught wind of some sort of bandit uprising, something about a worker riot concerning Stormwind's reconstruction? Sounds pretty ugly. Was that what happened in Westfall? Damn bandits, making life tough for those of us who do honest work. Hope you managed to get out of there without being hurt or robbed.

Things have been pretty chaotic here, too. King Greymane actually cut all ties between Gilneas and Lordaeron! And get this - not only has he broken off from Terenas, but Gilneas is actually building an enormous wall separating their territory from Lordaeron's! And the wall is being built south of the village, even though we're Gilnean citizens.

Needless to say, everyone in the village is a little concerned. Does this mean we'll become Lordaeron citizens? Or are we still going to be Gilneans, separated from the rest of our nation? Maybe the wall is just a defensive measure? No one knows, and it's making everyone really worried.

Mother and father said I should leave the village and go live in Gilneas City, so I don't end up stuck outside in case relations between the two kingdoms continue to sour. I know they mean well, but I can't just leave them behind. Every day though, I see that wall reaching up into the sky, and I get a little more apprehensive about it. It's a huge thing, Stalvan - Greymane really means business this time.

I wish you were here. I could really use your advice. What do you think I should do?

I think I'll probably end up going. Truthfully, I've kinda had an itching to get out and do a little traveling, after seeing what you've done. Gilneas isn't exactly traveling across the continent like what you did, but it's bound to be more interesting than our little village. And mother wants me to go, so badly, so I guess I should make her happy.

You remember that family who lived across the street when we were kids? The Crowleys? Well, it turns out they're cousins to a noble family in Gilneas, and they're going to be relocating to Gilneas City next week. They told mother I could live with them until I get settled, if I wanted to go, so it's looking pretty likely at this point.

Anyway, good luck on getting a new job as a tutor, little brother! I have no doubt you'll be back on your feet in no time.

-Tobias

Hello Stalvan,

I'll have to keep this letter brief.

Elwynn Forest, eh? I've heard of it - it sounds like a really pleasant place to live. Good for you! And I'm glad to hear you got a new teaching job with that noble family. I knew it wouldn't take you very long! Do you like private tutoring more than being a school teacher? It sounds like you would get to know your students a lot better, with only a handful of them.

Anyway, Gilneas City is really nice. It's huge, and the buildings and streets are so much more decorative than Pyrewood. It's quite a change, living in a major city and not a little farming village. But I'm getting used to it.

What I wanted to tell you though, was that things have gone just like mother feared - Greymane is extremely mad at Terenas and Lordaeron, and once the wall is finished (it should be done in a month or so) he's going to completely cut off all contact to those beyond the wall...including our parents.

Don't worry though, I made a trip out there just the other week and they're doing well. They're both healthy and said to send their regards. And the farm is flourishing, so much so that father was able to hire some local kids to help him with the heavy labor.

I'd love to still be able to write to you, though, so I asked one of Greymane's court magi to help me out. I had to beg and plead, since Greymane's firmly against what I asked him to do, but in the end he relented. I think even Greymane's inner court thinks their king's isolationist attitude is a little bizarre and unreasonable, but they don't want to openly oppose him - he's pretty intimidating.

You remember our family rings, that father gave us when we turned fifteen? You used to proudly wear yours all the time - I assume that's still the case. I do too, and so these rings have been imprinted with our essences. If you want to send me any future letters or correspondence, just write it down, then roll up the paper into a tube and slide your ring down onto it. I'll feel my ring get warm, and all I have to do then is roll up some blank parchment, pop the ring on, and it'll magically duplicate whatever you wrote!

Ah, the wonders of being neighbors with Dalaran. It's a shame Greymane is bent on cutting Gilneas off from the rest of the world. I suppose he has his reasons.

Remember to send your next letter through our rings! Pretty soon any normal correspondence won't make it past the wall, so this will be the only way we'll be able to stay in touch.

-Tobias

Dear Stalvan,

Did I read that correctly? My little brother found himself a girlfriend? Congratulations! She sounds like a real sweetheart. Mother and father would be so happy for you, too!

How is her family taking it, though? I don't mean to burst your bubble, but didn't you mention that she was already arranged to be married? I'm not sure how those things work, but I'm guessing that her would-be suitor's not too happy. Oh well, too bad for him! I'm sure once her family sees how in love the two of you are, they'll be all too happy to cancel that silly tradition. Who still does that, anyway?

It's cute to hear how sweet the two of you are. It's a good thing, too! Or else I was going to recommend making a trek up to Dalaran so you could get them to mix you up a love potion! Haha, but I can see that's not necessary at all. Besides, I doubt those uppity mages would actually do something like that.

It's too bad I'm stuck behind this wall, though, or I'd hop over to Dalaran and toss a coin in their wishing fountain for your happiness! Shame, really - I hear that fountain is more than just a normal, everyday fountain. It would only be a few hours ride for me, but you'd have to travel for days just to get here. Ah well, you two lovebirds sound like you don't need it, anyway.

Give my regards to the future Mrs. Mistmantle!

-Tobias

Dear Stalvan,

I have terrible news. Lordaeron has fallen to a horrible army of the undead. We are still cut off from Lordaeron, Silverpine and Hillsbrad, so we don't really know exactly how this came to be, but awful noises started faintly echoing from over the wall about a week ago. Inhuman, bestial noises...unlike anything I have ever heard before. I still hear them in my dreams, and they are the sounds of nightmares.

Not long after that, the cries for help started.

There must have been dozens of them. Men and women, elders and children, all had flocked to the wall, fleeing the undead monsters that had ravaged Lordaeron. We could hear their desperate pleas for help, could feel the panic and terror in their voices. We went to Greymane, imploring him to open the gates and let in these poor victims.

He refused.

Greymane refused, little brother. He would not budge, but instead insisted we let those outside succumb to their awful fate. We screamed at him to relent, to change his mind, but he stubbornly refused. He said it was to protect the safety of the kingdom, but what kind of kingdom would allow its neighbors to claw futilely at their door while monsters butchered them?

Many of us went home sickened that day. I was too shocked to be angry. I saw Crowley cursing up a storm, for he still had many friends who had been left outside the wall, in Pyrewood. Like our parents.

The Scourge swept through Silverpine and destroyed everything, Stalvan. And you know father. He would never abandon his farm, not even if the world itself was cracking in two. It was his life's work. And mother would never leave him.

Every day, I went to the wall. I hoped not to hear their voices coming from the other side - maybe some of our old neighbors had convinced them to flee - but I had to. I had to know.

And then...one day, I heard them.

They were tired and exhausted, and I had never heard such fear or panic in their voices...but it was them. I knew instantly, in my heart, that they were on the other side of that damned wall. Only a few yards of mortar and wood stood between us. Between life and death. It was agonizing.

I shouted until my voice was hoarse, calling out to them. I yelled at them to leave, that Greymane was not going to open the wall. Maybe, just maybe, if they left right away, they could still slip away before the undead horde arrived from the north.

They heard me, eventually. But it was too late.

They cried, Stalvan. From dread, yes, but more because we were safe and would not suffer their fate. I told them we would never forget them, that I would tell you what had happened. And I told them that some day, I would go find you and we would come back to lay them to rest.

I stayed at the wall as long as I could. They were exhausted, but I could feel their presence on the other side.

Then, the Scourge came.

Father saw them first, I think. The people camped outside started to scream and cry, but I heard his voice clearly, as though he were right next to me. "Go, Tobias," he said. "Go now. Don't let this be your last memory of us. We love you, son."

I didn't want to leave them, but I understood. I didn't want to hear what was about to happen. It was bad enough knowing. I think hearing it would have driven me mad.

It's been a few days since then. The ache in my heart has dulled some, replaced by rage. I've spoken with Crowley, and others who are just as incensed as I am. Greymane has gone too far, this time. Isolation is one thing, but abandoning our former neighbors? Our former friends? Our FAMILY? No, this is too much.

He'll pay for what he's done.

I'm sorry to dump this in your lap, brother. But I had to tell someone. And I had to tell you what happened to our poor parents. Say a prayer for them, for they walk with the Light now.

Your brother,
Tobias

Stalvan,

It's been over a year since I've heard from you. I hope all is well. Did you and that Tilloa girl get married yet?

Things in Gilneas have...well, where do I even begin. We - that is, Lord Crowley, myself, and a number of other Gilneas outraged over Greymane's abandonment of those trapped outside the wall - formed a resistance group and started to rebel against his rule. We'd had enough of his tyranny, and one way or another, he had to be stopped.

It was a violent, bloody affair, Stalvan. Many lives were lost, and I saw countless friends and acquaintances - on both sides, mind you - lose their lives. But every time I started having doubts about our cause, I just had to think of mother and father, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to for help, and my heart hardened. I know you'd have done the same thing were you here, brother. We Mistmantles don't forget nor forgive betrayals lightly.

Sadly, the fight against Greymane wasn't going very well for our side, and a large number of us - myself and Lord Crowley included - were captured and imprisoned. However, something happened that made both sides put aside their differences and band together.

I know, it sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it? One that you might read to your young students. But this was no happy story. A terrible curse broke out in Gilneas, and people started transforming into these horrible, savage wolf-men. We coined them worgen. The affliction spread through the population like wildfire - the disease spread through blood, so any time the worgen attacked, anyone who survived was doomed to become a worgen themselves if they had suffered but the merest scratch.

Greymane freed our forces from jail, and we tried to fight back the worgen...but there were too many. They were everywhere. Crowley, myself and a few others held a last stand at Gilneas City's Cathedral so that the worgen would come attack us, and let the last wave of fleeing citizens escape. It worked, maybe too well. We were overwhelmed and...

Stalvan, I was infected.

My last conscious thought was that I hoped my injuries would kill me, rather than condemn me to live the rest of my days as a savage, brutal beast. But to my surprise, when I awoke I discovered that though I was now a monstrous worgen, I still had control over my own actions. It turns out that Greymane's court alchemist, a man named Krennan Aranas, was able to devise an elixir that would let us keep the beast within at bay.

Furthermore, we also received help from the night elves, who had a great deal of knowledge and expertise about overcoming the worgen curse. I wouldn't find this out until later, but the elves were working closely together with Greymane, and later Crowley. I had never seen a night elf before, but I was impressed by their compassion and knowledge. Have you encountered any in your travels? Perhaps during your time in Stormwind? They are an amazing people, and I owe them a great deal.

However, even with the worgen curse seemingly defeated, other calamities soon arose. You are no doubt aware of the massive earthquakes that shook the land recently? These tremors shattered Greymane's precious wall, and soon our nation was at war once again. Not with ourselves, this time, but by the walking dead. It seems the Scourge hadn't been idle outside our doorstep. Now they called themselves the Forsaken, and led by their vicious queen, an undead elf ranger, they butchered many of our people and tried to conquer Gilneas.

We fought hard against these undead monsters, but their insidious war machines and wretched poison blight were simply too much for us. We were forced to flee Gilneas, and sought refuge in the faraway night elf capital Darnassus.

It is ironic, isn't it? I wanted to travel and see the world...just not like this.

However, things have brightened somewhat as of late. It took a great deal of diplomacy and apologies by Greymane, but he has finally managed to mend the broken bridges between himself and King Varian Wrynn. Greymane has joined the Alliance! No more isolation or stubborn independence. I don't think I will ever be able to forgive the man for condemning mother and father to death at the hands of the Scourge, but at least he is smart enough to realize his past mistakes and admit his failings.

But, anyway, that is all in the past now, little brother. Did you realize what this means? We are allies and friends to Stormwind now! Stormwind, and Westfall, and Redridge, and Duskwood. All of these fall under Wrynn's banner. I can finally come visit you!

I'm sending this letter ahead of me, for I still have to help Greymane and the other Gilneans settle into our new home in Darnassus. And the priestesses are still helping those of us afflicted with the curse, making sure that we are able to master the feelings of rage and violence that now lurk in our hearts. But as soon as I am able, I intend to catch a ship to Stormwind and come find you. It has been so long since I've looked upon your face, Stalvan! We have a lot of catching up to do. I hope Tilloa won't mind.

See you soon, brother.

Show/Hide Letter Notes
I have the sneaking suspicion this will be one of those Letters that only makes sense to me, and anyone who has done both the old Stalvan quests, and the new ones. Ah well, so be it.

The Legend of Stalvan quest series was always one of my favorite storylines, pre-Cataclysm. It was awful, yes, but it was amazingly well done. Few other quests in the game have evoked that same sort of slow, building dread as you progress through the quests, slowly uncovering page after page penned by Stalvan, battling restless spirits, talking to NPCs who grimly shook their heads at the bad memories...it was a terribly frightful experience. I remember being genuinely startled when I was attacked by a ghost in Stormwind's canal district, because I assumed that - being in a city - I would be completely safe. Great questline.

Of course, it's all changed now in Cataclysm. In fact, the actual murder mystery questline is gone completely. Now, Tobias Mistmantle is there in Duskwood, quite confused about what's happened to his brother, since no one in town will tell him. And you have to go track down the pages of "The Legend of Stalvan" (which is a collection of all the letters/journal entries from pre-Cata), much to the town clerk's regret.

Then, at the end, you have to help a grim, horrified Tobias summon Stalvan from the grave at Manor Mistmantle, where you killed him in the old questline, so Tobias can learn the truth about his beloved brother. Poor Tobias wants so much for everything to be a lie...but of course, it isn't. It's all true.

In a way, I miss the suspense and fear that came with the old quests, but the new ones are pretty powerful, too, just in a different way. Fetching the pages is silly - really nothing more than courier/retrieval quests, and though the clerk grows increasingly nervous about your mission, it's nothing like the true horror of the old storyline.

But when Tobias confronts Stalvan...that is a tremendously gut-wrenching little conversation. Poor Tobias. Not only was his brother really a murderer, but the fact that Stalvan would taunt Tobias so about his worgen condition, and essentially force Tobias to kill his own brother...it's pretty crazy. I mean, the worgen have it bad enough already trying to contain the curse's rage, and to be betrayed by your own brother like that? Tobias just can't catch a break, can he.

The fact that Stalvan would provoke Tobias, and mock him with his dying breath by saying they were the same, and Tobias' horrified denial at what he had just done...well, it really goes to show what a wretch Stalvan truly was.

That scene in Manor Mistmantle is probably one of my favorite moments in all of Cataclysm. In fact, my dwarf never handed the quest in, instead keeping Tobias' ring so I can go back and watch it again whenever I want.

As for the Letter itself, I debated how I'd do this one for weeks. I couldn't come up with a good connection between the two brothers' vastly different origins. I mean, the timeline alone was a nightmare! Did Stalvan leave Silverpine before the Greymane Wall was constructed? When did the Scourge outbreak occur? When did Stalvan commit his heinous murders? When was he killed by adventurers, compared to what was going on in Gilneas at the time? All of these are unknown.

In the end, I decided that focusing on Stalvan's numerous letters/journals already existing in-game would be the safest bet, and that I'd put the Mistmantles as originally from Pyrewood, giving a clear timeline (before the Greymane Wall, for Stalvan) and add to Tobias' personal grudge against Greymane, since his parents could be some of the ones trapped outside the wall when the Scourge came.

It would make a lot of sense for Stalvan, who clearly likes writing, to send frequent notes home. In his first letter, he is clearly excited to be out in the world and traveling, and seems young and carefree. You get the impression that he's led a sheltered life, and that everything is new and exciting to him.

So naturally, when he (in his mind) discovers "true love" in Tilloa, it would only make sense that he would write home about it. And not only would he write home and mention her, he'd probably - in his excitement - exaggerate, and make it sound like they were madly in love, and dating/engaged. He probably wouldn't have mentioned her young age, either, since it wouldn't matter to him. So Tobias would have no idea that Tilloa is actually a young girl, nor would he realize how foolish/naive his brother's infatuation really was. He's only going off what Stalvan wrote him, after all.

Of course, once the Greymane Wall was finished any future letters wouldn't reach Tobias...so a little cheat with the ring was necessary. Since both brothers wore those rings, and clearly cherished them, I figured that was as good a route to take as any.

As for the sadness with the Mistmantle parents being outside the wall, and poor Tobias being there and knowing they're doomed...that came out of NOWHERE. I was just going to have their fate be "unknown, presumed dead", but it didn't feel as solid to me. I thought Tobias needed a real, undeniable reason to hate Greymane enough to join up with Darius Crowley, so dead parents it was.

Impending Doooooom!

2011-11-27T18:42:00.000-08:00

To the great mighty Old Ones,

Your humble servant, the mighty Millhouse Manastorm, has survived where all others have fallen! Everyone else - Cho'gall, Corla, High Priestess Azil, even that cretin Drahga Shadowburner - didn't know when to cut and run, and they paid the price for their recklessness! Fortunately, prison taught me one very important lesson - SURVIVAL! Unlike those imbeciles, I quickly realized when we were outmatched, so I figured a tactical retreat was in order so that I could escape and warn you about how those louts dropped the ball!

To be honest, I really have no idea how they managed to botch things up so badly, masters. Everything was going great! We had the fragment of the World Pillar safe and secure, Lorthuna was all set to blow the Temple of Earth to smithereens, and we even managed to sway one of Therazane's kiddies to our side to help us defend the Stonecore!

Things were proceeding exactly as planned...and yet, somehow, the Earthen Ring didn't end up as stains on the rocky floor, but instead they killed Lorthuna! They weren't pushed out of Deepholm or crushed to bits, but instead they stomped right into the Stonecore, looking to wipe us out! I lit 'em up good, but I'm only one magical genius! They had me outgunned and outgnomebered.

I couldn't zap them all, so I lured them over to Corby's tunnels, hoping the gyreworm would pop out and crush them. Corby's been steaming mad ever since Deathwing left, so why not let him take out his frustrations on these heroic saps? It was a great plan!...except I may have slightly misjudged the distance from his cavern, and when he burst out of the ground, I might have gotten knocked over the edge down to where Deathwing had all those metal plates attached.

My bad.

But hey, no biggie! I figured the big rock worm, the big rock dragon and the big rock elemental would be enough to stop the invaders, or at least, weaken them enough for Azil to mop up. I wasn't worried for a second! It took me a long time to make my way back up (Deathwing didn't exactly build any exit stairs, especially not gnome-sized ones), so imagine my shock when I saw everyone dead or lying in rubble on the floor!

Even Azil had failed. I don't know how! All she had to do was crush them with those huge boulders she was so found of tossing around. How can you go wrong with giant rocks? What in Bonzo's brass buttons was she doing?? I'm baffled, mighty ones. Just baffled.

Anyhoo, now look at us - scattered and fractured, with our grasp on Deepholm - and, I've heard, the rest of the world - weakened and defeated! Those nincompoops! This never would have happened if I'd been in charge! But noooo, nobody listens to the gnome! I warned them!

It's really not surprising, I guess. For a cult dedicated to total global annihilation, those guys could be so shortsighted! (No pun intended.) They just never understood how dedicated I am to your cause, mighty ones. And now look at them. Dead. Stabbed. Puddles of mush. But not me! I am invincible!

Besides, those brats had the nerve to call themselves your servants? After they flocked to your call, scared and whimpering after the planet got a little crumbly and rumbly? Hah! Rookies! No wonder they blew it. Should've let me handle things. I'm old school, baby! After all, I've been yours ever since I ended up trapped in that silly space prison with Harbinger Skyriss, years ago! I'm not only older, smarter and more experienced than those kids - I've got tenure. Yeah!

It's kind of funny, looking back. As for as cellmates go, Skyriss was sure annoying. All he would do was talk about his allegiance to powers untouched by time, unmoved by fate, that kinda thing. It was interesting at first, but by the tenth time I heard I just wanted it to shut up so I could get some sleep! You ever tried sleeping on a bed made out of glowing blue crystal while a fifty-foot green bug thing was droning on and on next door about tastes of chaos and undreamed-of horrors? I didn't get a decent night's rest for a month!

Really not much of a conversationalist, either. You get pretty bored when you're stuck in a cell, especially when you're someone as bombastic as myself. But whenever I tried to break the monotony with a little banter, I got the impression Skyriss wasn't really interested in chatting. Either that or he's just really socially inept. I'd ask him what it did for a living, he'd tell me that I was a weakling and I'd do his bidding. I tried asking him if he had any family, he'd reply that he was one of infinite multitudes. That doesn't even make sense!

In the end though, he made a pretty convincing argument. The things he told me about you guys, well, it kinda blew my mind. He told me about the ancient stuff with those gross bugs down south in Silithus, and how you guys were all buried deep underground just waiting to be freed. Pretty heavy stuff!

I had a lot of time to think about what he told me, and I swear I heard and dreamed about you even while I was sleeping! Maybe you were already whispering to me, telling me what to do! (Or maybe it was just stupid Skyriss whispering through the cell walls in the night...that bozo.)

In any case, Millhouse Manastorm might be a lot of (awesome) things, but he's no fool! I could see the writing on the wall. Big things were coming, and I sure as heck wanted to be a part of them! I didn't want to miss out on this chance to join the winning team!

Anyway, things might look pretty bad right now, masters, but we haven't lost yet. We've still got the Twilight Father doing his sneaky stuff over in Stormwind, and of course the big D's still out there, doing...well, whatever it is he does. Burning things, I guess? I don't really know but I'm sure it's really bad. So some of our biggest cards are still in play!

Plus, of course, I'm still here! Those silly heroes think they got rid of me, but it'll take a lot more than a little fall to get rid of the almighty Millhouse Manastorm! Before Corby knocked me over the edge, I was really working them over. They'll probably flee in panic once they see that I survived and am now out for revenge! I'm their worst nightmare!

And I've been working on something super special, just for this occasion, oh yeah! An extra large can of whoop-ass, double-M style! I gotta thank you, masters, for granting me the wisdom and imagination to come up with this one. It's a real doozy! You guys are gonna love this!

I call it: Impending Doooooom! Just wait until you see this baby in action! This spell will deliver a strike so diabolical, I'm unable to even accurately describe it in words! And my victims, they won't even be able to understand the full effect of as its blinding brilliance washes over them like a tidal wave of devastation!

I warned them not to mess with me. They're gonna be sorry!

So, masters, just let me know what you want me to do and I'll do it! Consider me your personal magic cannon - aim me at something and light the fuse, and LOOK OUT! Want me to blow up Orgrimmar? No prob! How about Stormwind? Wait, maybe not Stormwind. The Father's there and I'm guessing he'd be pretty bad mad if I blew him up. How about Ironforge instead?

Who's bad? Who's bad? That's right: we bad!

Show/Hide Letter Notes
Of all the returning faces that showed up again in Cataclysm, Millhouse Manastorm had to be one of the most surprising ones. We hadn't seen him since his random appearance in the Arcatraz back in Burning Crusade, and suddenly here he was as a high-ranking member of the Twilight Cult? How bizarre!

I was glad to see that he kept his awesome attitude, as we see in Stonecore as he fights, taunts and flees a few times before Corborus emerges and knocks him over the cliff edge. It really is funny that he actually attempts to cast Impending Doooooom! a few times before meeting his (apparent) demise.

Of course, this is WoW - if you don't see a body, they're not dead. (Of course, even if you DO see a body, and cut its head off, they're not necessarily dead. But I digress.) Was Millhouse killed in the fall? Well...why? It's just a fall. He definitely could have survived, especially since he's a...hybrid mage/warlock. O_O (Seriously, he casts Shadowfury, Fear, and Frostbolt Volley.)

Also, this seems like an abrupt, out-of-nowhere heel turn (switch to the bad side)...but is it really? After all, Manastorm WAS directly connected to a powerful agent of the Old Gods in the past - Harbinger Skyriss. Who's to say how long they spent locked up together in the Arcatraz? I joke about it in the Letter, but if Skyriss was constantly whispering Old God mutterings to Manastorm, who couldn't do anything to stop it or block it out, it very likely could have twisted him up mentally. Also, Skyriss is clearly a pretty potent Old God servant - maybe just exposure/proximity to it would have been enough to corrupt Manastorm, or at the very least, plant a seed of Old God touch within him.

As for the Letter itself, I tried to work as much of Manastorm's personality into his words as possible. Everything about this gnome screams brash, cocky and energetic. (And funny.) It's one of the reasons he was so popular.

I pictured him writing this letter, getting more and more excited as he went, maybe giving little fist pumps or verbal shout-outs to himself as he wrote. He may now be a member of a doomsday cult and completely dedicated to evil, but that doesn't mean he'd be any less fun.

Stealing to Survive

2011-11-27T05:03:00.000-08:00

Me dear wife,

I can't stand by no more and do nothin', not while da little ones go hungry. It be breakin' me heart every night when I see dere wee little sad faces lookin' up at me, wit' empty bellies and empty plates in dere hands. Not anymore. I gotta provide for me family, one way or another.

I know ya been tellin' me not ta do dis, dat da Warchief be sure ta have me head if he hear what I done. And ya, ya be right. I know he be madder dan a pit full o' sand vipers if he catch word. But what what choice do we got?

Sometimes I be wonderin' what da Horde really tink o' us, and what it still be holdin' for us Darkspear. It sure ain't been da same since Thrall stepped down and named Hellscream as da new Warchief. Thrall, he always honored da Darkspear and treat us wit' da respect we deserve, but Hellscream...well, good on ol' Vol'jin ta tell dat whelp how it is, and what we tink o' him. Dat youngster just ain't cut out ta be leader an' we all know it.

'Course, Hellscream ain't one ta let Vol'jin's words go unpunished, nah. Never thought I'd see da day when da Darkspear be relegated ta some corner o' Orgrimmar like a bit o' trash ta be tossed aside. Us, we who helped da Horde in its earliest days, when Thrall an' Cairne was still wanderin' da land lookin' for a home! We helped 'em and dey helped us, dat's what da Horde was all about. Da centaur, da murlocs, even da Alliance, none o' dem able ta stand against us.

But den Hellscream, he get in one little squabble wit' Vol'jin and suddenly he decide da Darkspear don't belong wit' da rest o' da Horde? Dat we be "too weak" and don't deserve ta live in da main part o' da city?

Not part o' da Horde? We helped MAKE da Horde! Da Darkspear been part o' da Horde long before Hellscream ever even set foot on Azeroth, and he got da nerve ta say dat ta us? It make me blood boil just tinkin' about it.

But Vol'jin, he be mad too but he tell us we gotta endure and deal wit' it, not cause he be scared o' Hellscream, but for da sake o' da Horde. He trust Thrall, even if he don' agree wit' namin' Hellscream as Warchief. And he know if we were ta start fightin' amongst ourselves it be just settin' us up for da Alliance ta swoop in and get us. I hear da human king gotta powerful hate o' da Horde, an' no doubt he be just lovin' a chance ta catch us off our guard.

So we grumble about it a bit, but in da end we listen da Vol'jin, and pack up our tings and move ta da Valley o' Spirits. It not be dat bad, really. Already a couple o' da tribe who always lived dere, and it be actually kinda quiet and relaxin', away from da noise and bustle o' da bank and auction house. In fact, da little ones actually like da new home better, since dey can run aroun' and play and not get in da way o' any guards or grunts.

I guess tings weren't so bad at first. Not quite da same, but not da worst. We probably coulda lived like dis, acceptin' Hellscream's insults for da sake o' da Horde.

But dat was before dey started stealin' our food.

Da first time I saw someone diggin' around in our rice barrels, I thought it be just a fellow member o' da Horde who be needin' an afternoon snack. But den more and more o' dem started showin' up, just walkin' up and takin' whatever dey wanted! Do dey not realize dat we be needin' dat rice?

A few o' us confront one o' da looters, a lil elf girl. She just shrug an' say dat she just be doin' what Hellscream's infantry chef tell her ta do...dat da Horde needed more food ta feed da troops, and our rice be what he need ta finish da job.

Bad enough dat Hellscream shove us all in a corner where he don' have ta tink about us, but now he be tellin' people ta come help demselves ta our food? It not be like we gotta lot o' extra rice ta spare - we barely got enough for us, let alone da Horde's soldiers. How can Hellscream or dis Marogg expect us ta feed da troops when we got nothin' o' our own?

I go and ask 'em dis, but dey just brush me off and tell me ta stop complainin', dat it be necessary for da Horde, dat dey need supplies and rations ta fight da Alliance. And Hellscream, he just roll his eyes when I try tellin' him we can't spare da rice. "Stop whining," he say, a sneer on his ugly mug. "Be thankful I even permit you weaklings to live in my city, out of respect for Thrall's wishes." I try explainin' again, dat if our rice be taken we gonna start starvin', but da guards just shove me out o' da room and tell me ta leave.

So I got no choice, ya see. I don't wanta make a big fuss or nothin', but da little babies, dey gotta eat. I been watchin' Marogg and I been watchin' where he be puttin' da crates of rations ta be shipped out. Tonight I gonna sneak up and take a few packs. Not a lot o' course, just enough so we can eat and feed da children. Way I figure it, it be Darkspear rice anyway, so we be entitled ta get our fair share, ya? And maybe when Hellscream see how desperate we are, he be realizin' how much we really do need dat rice.

See ya tonight, dear. For da first time in months, da little ones gonna go ta sleep wit' dere little tummies full. I not be wantin' ta be a thief, but a troll gotta do what a troll gotta do.

Love ya.

Show/Hide Letter Notes
One of the more interesting changes in Cataclysm was how the trolls in Orgrimmar had been relocated to the Valley of Spirits, separated from the rest of the Horde. This of course is a result of the angry words exchanged between Garrosh and Vol'jin, where Vol'jin insults Garrosh and basically calls him a hotheaded fool. As a result, Garrosh orders the trolls out of his throne room and orders them to go live in the slums.

For the most part, you don't really notice. The trolls are off in their own area, but it seems actually rather convenient, since they have their own bank, auction house and trainers, just like the goblins (also in the Valley of Spirits) and the tauren over in the Valley of Wisdom. It seems that everything is fine.

Until you start doing the daily cooking quests, and notice an odd discrepancy between thes two quests pictured above.

First, Marogg , an orc, tells you to go blatantly steal the trolls' rice to feed the Horde troops. He doesn't seem to feel any guilt or remorse about stealing their food, and rather, is quite pleased to have "easy access" to their supplies. When you hand in the quest, he says "Don't worry, we will return the rice once we are done...or not."

By itself, this isn't too bad. It's a little underhanded, sure, but no harm done, right? And it's for the Horde war effort...so maybe it's a necessary evil.

But then you get the other cooking daily where you have to go kill the thieves that are stealing the rations. The immediate irony between killing these food thieves, while you yourself ARE a food thief, is very obvious. But it only gets worse when you realize that the thieves are exclusively trolls and goblins (who were also relegated to the slums). And you then realize that the people stealing the rations aren't greedy or evil...they're simply taking back the food that YOU stole from THEM to begin with!

It's a subtle, understated storyline, but one that really illustrates the uneasy relationship between the Horde races right now. And it shows how Garrosh's Horde really doesn't care about the trolls at all right now, and basically just abuses/exploits them. It's pretty sad, and infuriating, really.

It also makes for a great Letter.

After all, I imagine the poor, nameless "Orgrimmar Thief" characters have a very good reason for stealing the food. They need it! They need it to feed their poor families who are now going hungry due to Marogg's heartless thefts. And they probably don't want to start any open rebellion or attack anyone, or anything extreme like that. All they want is a little food, just enough to survive.

Of course, the true tragedy of their story is that we already know what happens to these thieves, even though they are only stealing because they are hungry and desperate. They get killed (by us!) and are regarded as criminals by the general Horde population. :(

Swimming Wild

2011-11-25T07:51:00.000-08:00

To King Greymane,

Alliance ops here in the aquatic copper helm of Vashj'ir are near morning sun, sir. It ain't been ham and cheesy, not by a long cooking pot. We've had to dad and mum everything from being bird-pecked, read and writing off hostile bacon 'n bean life and them monstrous naga, to digging and landscaping up bits of food 'n supplies from other rubbernecks we've found on the ocean silver ore. Oh, and we also garden toolishly/unwittingly set double deuce some monstrous Old God Bountiful Feast that nearly Bradshaw Milled us all.

Maybe I should go back to the knife and skinning, what?

Everything was fisher's bait, for the first few spring showers. We set sail from Stormwind aboard those fancy mercenary stagecoach whips, on our way to baby rattle Hellscream's chicken coops. We were just approaching that new bit o' farmer's tan the Horde has been trying to seize, when suddenly a huge, tentacled old boot rose outta the bended knee and pulverized the boat! Crushed it like it was a fat crab set for kidney punch, it did. This thing was huge, sir - it could've climbed right over the Greymane tavern brawl with nary a lover's snuggle. And it had an evil butcher's hook to it. It weren't just some dumb animal, there was a cruel, vicious intelligence in its meat pies.

Anyway, so that wasn't a very positive apple cart. We were sinking beneath the Innkeeper's Daughter in a cloud of bodies and debris, and then the ruddy naga bridle tacked! We tried fending them off, but we were ice picked and rabbit snared, and a bunch of us ended up brown bread. Thankfully one of the Earthen Ring, a somber mushroom cap named Erunak, was able to dumpling stew a handful of us and drag us to a bird-peck where we were able to get our bottle o' gin back.

After we gathered some golden bells for him, Erunak was able to lay a salad dressing on us so we'd be able to breathe cannon fodder and move about grain barley. It's a Blackwald wood thing, too, because those naga and the Horde were city square. Captain Taylor and the rest of us saved as many as we could before the dirty crumb cakes kick-the-canned us. Erunak saved me from being wed and married away, but I early frost the Captain during the pulled muscle.

With a lot of alley dirk, we pushed on into Vashj'ir and established a few Baron Ashbury base dingy streetlamps. At one point we caught up with one of our cat's purrs we had thought early frost to the naga, who told us some cheery cherry bottle o' booze. Seems the naga weren't just coarse stringing us, but also going to fisher's bait effort to keep them bee hive, trapping them in magical debris and rubbles, then taking them away, never to be King and Queen from again. A shiver ran down my ale stein as he spilled the beans. I had a bad feeling.

We headed into a Burning Legion called the Shimmering Expanse, and began really taking the read and right to the picket fence. We were rifle butting our way through their nails and planks when suddenly, Erunak sensed a mighty, nudge and jostle life quarter horse nearby - a gigantic golden belled thing sitting on the ocean silver ore! I didn't even know it was bee hive, let alone a powerful Innkeeper's Daughter creature - it was the size of Greymane Manor, if not hair trigger! And inside, the naga were using trim and shaves - Alliance captives! - to mine and excavate the creature's natural pretty girls and minerals.

Now, I know you sent me here to stranglekelp with the reading and writing 'cause of my service in Gilneas, but I was really starting to feel out of silk and lace. I mean, I'm a cat's purr, give me a sword and a foe to stare in the meat pies, and I'll be right as rattling chain. But sneaking into a cannon fodder naga fool's gold, located inside a giant, ancient Rockscale Cod? This was all a little docker's clutch. We did find Captain Taylor inside, though, dinner plattered and wild boar, but still breathing.

We spent some bird lime inside the creature, Bradshaw Milling naga and restoring its natural bodily hot cross buns, and freeing the danced and waved. There were also Horde prison shivs, and we had a brief armor plate about whether we should Thistle Tea them as well or leave them because they were still our enemies. In the end we bear's paw that there were also a small tomato soup of Horde adventurers baby rattling the naga and saving their people, so we decided to leave them alone and focus on the mutual fisher's net.

Once the naga inside had been signed and dated, it flushed out any remaining tea caddies and we took off. We were weary and barb wired, and even worse, now had a large group of ex-trim and shaves who were unarmed, Darius Crowley and fatigued! We set up shop in a nearby shepherd's stave and got some Midsummer Fest. Some of our scouts reported that the ruins of a vast naga cute kitty lay nearby, but we determined that it was too heavily pig larded for a frontal bridle tack, and left them alone. After all, we still had to stop their distilled malt upon the Plane of Innkeeper's Daughter that was raging farther on, and there was still the unfinished Alterac Swiss with that nasty squid-thing that had rubbernecked our stagecoach whip. And we had just found the creature's grizzly bear.

At Captain Taylor's orders, we rendezvoused with a gnomish cannon fodder vessel, the Pincer X2, and descended into the chimney sweep to find the Bountiful Feast. The stagecoach whip seemed...bended kneeworthy, and relatively orphaned waif. But then again, it was of gnomish wild swine. I was rather lip service, but the captain, a draenei named Glovaal, seemed not tossed or turned. He had a funny pup tent though, which made it rather King's guard to know what he was hound's baying. Chicken and rice fellow, but window-knocking with him sure was roadside trading.

We ambushed the old boot (a kraken, I learned) and blasted it with all sorts of huge slapping palms. The whole craft rattled and babbling brooked, and I swear there were leaky canoes flying out and steel bending. It was terrifying - I'll fox steak a daft and barmy of plague-hurling Forsaken over being oyster shucked inside a metal debris and rubble like that any day of the mountain peak.

Well sir, we didn't manage to Bradshaw Mill the horror, but we did scare it off pretty Blackwald wood. We set up dingy streetlamp in the large empty shepherd's stave, which Glovaal called Darkbreak Cove. We were close to finishing our singing musician, but our limited blue skies continued to be an issue. We skipped and bound some makeshift fuel by siphoning it from the local bacon 'n bean life (don't tell Celestine). A gnome named Hexascrub was able - after a fisher's bait deal of trial and error - to mix it up into a snapping crocodile, explosive angry druid that he says will be perfect bio-fuel. His lemon zests nearly smoked us to death, but Glovaal seems to trust him, so I guess it's Booty Bay. Trust a gnome to turn natural fish farmer's soil into engine fuel.

Of course, while we were refueling, the naga sure hadn't spoiled rotten about us. Their chicken coops kept ambushing our scouts, so I sent in a running theme to go thin them out and fox steak out their pitch and toss. I told them to stick our flag in his body once he was brown bread, show them who they're Princess Tessing with. They kept their Northgate resistance after that.

I should point out that Hexascrub is an engineering sweet dessert, but in all other regards he's bloomin' daft! We bear's paw some of those horrible squid things sucked onto the ol' boat races of gilblins, and Hexascrub had the brilliant Queen Mia of fetching some to use as disguises. Sure enough, soon as some garden tool put the thing on its Mayor Armstead, the creature woke up and took biscuit roll, and started running around shouting how it was going to sheep herder us and how we were all going to Plumpkin Pie.

Thankfully, we were able to treasure cache the thing off and burn it before it caused any real beard stubble. I wanted to strangle Hexascrub, but Glovaal said he still needed him to operate the stagecoach whip. Spiced chili gnome.

Anyway, Glovaal and Hexascrub nearly have the Pincer mountain yeti for our final distilled malt upon the naga quarter horses, at the huge thread and spool known as the Abyssal Breach. I've been sending our chicken coops out to disrupt the activity of the Twilight Cultists we discovered alley dirking nearby. Whatever they were up to, it couldn't be Blackwald wood, so I figured we might as well mud and swamp them out now while we had the song and dance.

Within but a few spring showers, we'll be sailing to the birthday gift. Erunak says it's actually a knight's salute to Neptulon's copper helm, the Throne of Tides. This is sorry and sad, sir. If the naga manage to seize biscuit roll of the old crone, there's no telling what kinda Princess Tess they'll cause, especially their tent stitch of a leaky canteen, Azshara. We can only hope that with our stranglekelp, the Tidehunter will be able to berry bush them back and repel their quarter horses.

Well, we're almost mountain yeti to go. Wish us roast duck, sir! No doubt you'll soon butter churn the results of our ready and write, one way or another.

Cheers,

Show/Hide Letter Notes
When I asked for suggestions for Letters, I specifically asked for Alliance NPCs, since I have very little first-hand knowledge about them. Someone suggested Foxy Topper, so I looked her up on Wowpedia to see what the big deal was...and groaned. What the hell was she even saying? How was I supposed to write like HER?

After doing some reading, I learned that her seemingly-random dialogue actually DOES follow a pattern...it's called Cockney Rhyming Slang. Basically, it's taking a word in a sentence and replacing it with an expression that rhymes, for example "look" becomes "butcher's hook." Furthermore, in most cases the rhyming word is removed, so "Let's have a look." becomes "Let's have a butcher's."

CONFUSING.

However (thankfully) Foxy Topper's dialogue does NOT omit the rhyming word. I think if it did, it would be impossible to figure out what she's saying. Some of her in-game lines are:

Good to meet ya, love. Let's have a butcher's hook (look).
Nutmegs (legs) don't fail me now!
I'm gonna need me a good ol' tiddlywink (drink) after this!

So to summarize, for this Letter I'd have to:
- Write about the Alliance Vashj'ir questline, which I was unfamiliar with
- Write like a Worgen
- Change that dialogue into Cockney Rhyming Slang

I decided to just write her letter normally, then Worgen-ize it (if possible), then Cockney-Slang it. Considering I never, ever hear Cockney dialogue, I knew that some of my slang choices probably wouldn't be actual Cockney Slang, but you know what, I'm only human. And also, actual British or real-life slang words - which are apparently commonly used in this manner of speech - wouldn't make any sense for a Gilnean to use, so I tried to substitute in Azeroth/Gilnean references instead.

If you're curious what the translations are, here they are (it's a long list).

copper helm = realm
morning sun = done
ham and cheesy = easy
cooking pot = shot
dad and mum = overcome
bird-pecked = shipwrecked
read and write = fight
bacon 'n bean = marine
digging and landscaping = scraping
rubberneck = shipwreck
silver ore = floor
garden tool = fool
double deuce = loose
Bountiful Feast = beast
Bradshaw Mill = kill
knife and skinning = beginning
fisher's bait = great
spring shower = hour
stagecoach whip = ship
baby rattle = battle
chicken coops = troops
farmer's tan = land
old boot = brute
bended knee = sea
kidney punch = lunch
tavern brawl = wall
lover's snuggle = struggle
butcher's hook = look
meat pies = eyes
apple cart = start
Innkeeper's Daughter = water
bridle tacked = attacked
ice picked = panicked
rabbit snared = unprepared
brown bread = dead
mushroom cap = chap
dumpling stew = rescue
bottle o' gin = wind
golden bells = shells
salad dressing = blessing
cannon fodder = underwater
grain barley = freely
Blackwald wood = good
city square = everywhere
crumb cakes = snakes
kick-the-canned = overran
wed and married = carried
early frost = lost
pulled muscle = tussle
alley dirk = work
Baron Ashbury = secondary
dingy streetlamp = camp
cat's purr = soldier
cheery cherry = scary
bottle o' booze = news
coarse stringing = capturing
fisher's bait = great
bee hive = alive
King and Queen = seen
ale stein = spine
Burning Legion = region
picket fence = ?
rifle butting = cutting
nails and planks = ranks
nudge and jostle = colossal
quarter horse = force
hair trigger = bigger
trim and shaves = slaves
pretty girls = pearls
stranglekelp = help
silk and lace = place
rattling chain = rain
fool's gold = stronghold
Rockscale Cod = demigod
docker's clutch = much
dinner plattered = battered
wild boar = sore
bird lime = time
hot cross buns = functions
prison shivs = captives
armor plate = debate
Thistle Tea = free
bear's paw = saw
tomato soup = group
fisher's net = threat
signed and dated = eliminated
tea caddies = baddies
barb wired = tired
Darius Crowley = hungry
shepherd's stave = cave
Midsummer Fest = rest
cute kitty = city
pig larded = guarded
distilled malt = assault
Alterac Swiss = business
grizzly bear = lair
chimney sweep = deep
orphaned waif = safe
wild swine = design
lip service = nervous
tossed or turned = concerned
pup tent = accent
King's guard = hard
hound's baying = saying
chicken and rice = nice
window-knocking = talking
roadside trading = frustrating
slapping palms = bombs
babbling brooked = shook
leaky canoes = screws
fox steak = take
daft and barmy = army
oyster shucked = stuck
debris and rubble = bubble
mountain peak = week
singing musician = mission
blue skies = supplies
skipped and bound = found
snapping crocodile = volatile
angry druid = fluid
lemon zests = tests
Booty Bay = okay
farmer's soil = oil
spoiled rotten = forgotten
running theme = team
pitch and toss = boss
Princess Tess = mess
Northgate resistance = distance
sweet dessert = expert
bloomin' toadstool = fool
ol' boat race = face
Queen Mia = idea
Mayor Armstead = head
biscuit roll = control
sheep herder = murder
Plumpkin Pie = die
treasure cache = bash
beard stubble = trouble
spiced chili = silly
mountain yeti = ready
thread and spool = whirlpool
mud and swamp = stomp
song and dance = chance
birthday gift = rift
knight's salute = route
sorry and sad = bad
old crone = zone
tent stitch = witch
leaky canteen = Queen
berry bush = push
roast duck = luck
butter churn = learn

The Proud and the Poor

2011-11-24T14:38:00.000-08:00

Dear Warchief Hellscream,

On behalf of myself and my co-workers Thathung and Grimful, I, Wabang, would like to announce that we are laying down our axes in peaceful protest, to formally ask you to give us back our former jobs as proud Orgrimmar Auctioneers.

I know when you became Warchief you thought you were doing us a favor by "freeing us" from what you called boring, tedious bookkeeper jobs. We could see how happy you were when you told us that we could finally don our armor and brandish our axes like the proud orc warriors we were, and not be stuck behind a desk any longer.

We appreciate the gesture, Warchief. We really do. It's just that...well...we kind of liked being Auctioneers.

I mean, being a Grunt is okay. It's a job, and we do like being able to serve the Horde and protect Orgrimmar from quillboar or Alliance attacks and everything.

However, it's so boring. Most of the time we just walk around and get a tan, and look wistfully inside at our replacement goblin auctioneers. In fact, I spend more of my time cleaning up refuse on the streets than doing any actual guard-work. By the ancestors, so much poop. Wind Rider poop, Proto-Drake poop, Dark Phoenix poop...I tell you, if I ever get my hands on whoever had the bright idea to allow flying mounts in our city...

I miss my old job, Warchief. I miss the sounds and bustle of the Auction House, the satisfying clinking and metallic aroma of coins changing hands. I miss hearing the stories that would inevitably accompany a rare, exotic weapon from far-off lands, or holding a priceless jewel or magic artifact in my hands before carefully writing down its name and who was selling it, and their desired sale price. I miss seeing the happy faces on adventurers as they tried on powerful new equipment, and I miss witnessing the thrilled look on a youngster's face when they sell enough scraps of leather to make their first gold piece.

Granted, not everything we sold was exciting or pleasant to handle, but overall, it was always an interesting, enjoyable occupation.

I know you think that we orcs should be warriors and fighters. But some of us just prefer more humble lifestyles, Warchief. I was never really very good at swinging an axe around, and my armor tends to chafe. Secretly, I am also apprehensive about what would happen if an Alliance war party invaded! I know you meant well, but I haven't swung my axe at anything other than a wood pile for years. I suspect my combat skills would be worth less than a pile of Murglesnout.

Also, it just doesn't seem fair. I know you were not yet Warchief, but we loyally and dutifully served the Horde for years as Auctioneers in the old Auction House, which was essentially just a big cave with a ledge for us to stand at the back. Back in those days, we didn't even have places to store our goods! We just had it all piled up behind us. It took us months to come up with a tagging and sorting system so that we would not lose or misplace anyone's valuable items!

And we didn't even have guards back then. Not really. I can't even count the number of times we were horribly beaten by Alliance thugs who had somehow sneaked into the city. I still walk with a limp thanks to one particularly mean dwarf. Yes, I could have grabbed one of the weapons for sale and used it to fight her, but I would sooner die than damage or ruin someone else's prized possession! Call it an Auctioneer's pride.

(Besides, I'd have to buy it then. You bind it, you buy it!)

But then, Orgrimmar finally got a new Auction House, with convenient crates and chests for handy storage, even overhead shelves. It even had doors for when it was cold or windy outside! Poor old Thathung had tears of joy in his eyes as we watched the finishing touches go up. But then when we learned that it would be goblins running the Horde's economic operations in the new building, and not us, those tears turned to tears of sadness.

Warchief, the simple truth is that being a Grunt just does not pay the bills.

You may not realize this, but Thathung, Grimful and myself chose to be Auctioneers. We were not forced into it. We all carefully studied and honed our arithmetic to be able to perform an Auctioneer's speedy calculations, and as you are no doubt aware, private tutoring by the Blood Elves is not cheap. Now that we have lost our jobs as Auctioneers, we can no longer afford to pay our outstanding debts, and the Grand Magister gets rather nasty/polymorphy when he is not paid.

As Auctioneers, we made a comfortable living, but we needed it to pay for our expensive - but necessary - tutelage and training. After all, you wouldn't want just any average orc off the dirt of Durotar handling the tens of thousands of gold coins that circulate through our city, would you?

I tried being a Flight Master, and well, you saw the six dead wind riders outside your door that week. We are trained to be Auctioneers, so that is what we should be!

We worked very hard for our careers, and to have it taken away from us so abruptly has left us in a very poor financial situation, Warchief. In addition to our educational debts, we have families to support and needs of our own!

Poor Grimful has it the worst, as he is hopefully addicted to gambling. Every day he pours his earnings into those blasted cards, hoping to one day strike it rich. He knows it is foolish, but he is far, far in the red and is desperate.

It also seems that someone in Orgrimmar's management - not you, Warchief, but perhaps one of your underlings - is intent on running a corrupt operation. Just the other evening, Grimful knocked on my door late at night, completely miserable and despondent. It turns out that due to a "filing error", his previous week's work - a hundred and sixty-eight hours' worth - were null and void, and he wouldn't be getting paid as a result.

Warchief, Grimful is a married orc with two small children to support! They will go hungry this week due to this supposed mistake. As it is, he will probably have to sell some of his belongings (on the Auction House, no less) simply to make rent this month.

And on a similar note, do the goblins really need those jobs? We all know they are wealthy beyond compare and don't have to scrounge for coppers like the rest of us. And while it seems that they are so far following our customary 5% commission rate for auction sales, how long before they start listening to their wallets and following in the footsteps of their greedy 15%-cut Neutral Auction House cousins?

I am not sure why you have decided that the rich among us should get richer, while those of us who need those jobs wallow in poverty. Is it simply because you figured they would be the best people for the job? Or was this some kind of agreement demanded by their filthy rich Trade Prince?

Don't get me wrong, I am glad to have them as our allies. I just wish they hadn't taken my beloved and hard-earned job when they joined up.

Warchief, we cannot go on living like this. A career as a Grunt simply will not do, but we are not adequately trained to be able to do anything else. We are not asking for anything but to be able to do our jobs, jobs we studied and trained hard to be qualified for, jobs we held for years before being suddenly replaced by these upstart new hires.

Our patience has grown Short, and we are prepared to wait a Very Long time until our voices are heard.

Sincerely,

Show/Hide Letter Notes
True story - Wabang was always my favorite Auctioneer, prior to Cataclysm. So when the Shattering hit and I started poking around Orgrimmar, I quickly noticed his absence from the Auction House! I was crushed, until I realized that he was still around, just now as a Grunt instead of an Auctioneer.

It's an interesting change, really, when you think about it. Stormwind's Auctioneers are still working as Auctioneers, but Orgrimmar's three Auctioneers all became Grunts! From a story perspective, it makes a lot of sense - get the financially-minded goblins in there, because that's what they're good at. Plus, I imagine Garrosh would absolutely disapprove of orcs fussing over coins and ledgers rather than out on the battlefield spilling blood.

However, what if Wabang, Thathung and Grimful didn't WANT to be Grunts? This was one of the first ideas I had for this year's Letters, and it was was ripe with humor. Then I found out that Grimful was one of the people Scribes could turn in Forged Documents to, and his two responses - about not being paid for his 168-hour work week (a whole week, BTW), and about having to lay off the cards/gambling - fit in perfectly.

Then, of course, there was the whole Occupy Wall Street thing. On one hand, I really wanted to work in elements from it, because there's some ironic similarities. Goblins = Corporations, a job as a Grunt = minimum wage, etc. I didn't want to go overboard though, so I just worked in a few things here or there.

Finally, Alas asked me a week or so ago to write about a poor NPC whose job it was to pick up all the poop from the flying mounts soaring about overhead. So there was yet another grievance Wabang would have with his new job!

As the Crow Flies

2011-11-22T18:54:00.000-08:00

(Artwork from "A Bird in Hand" (WoW TCG) by Gonzalo Ordonez)

Hey Omnuron! I noticed that you tend to have a pained look on your face when I come back from Talon missions, like you just ate something that didn't agree with you.

If it's just heartburn, you should really go talk to Choluna, I'm sure she'd have some sort of mushed up roots or minced wood pulp or something that would help. But if it's stress, you should relax! You need to think about your blood pressure! Besides, there's no need to worry about me like that, Archdruid. I know you keep telling us (well, me) that we should remain hidden, that the Druids of the Talon should avoid direct conflict and leave the fighting to the others, but I can take care of myself! And anyway, sometimes you just need to get your talons dirty.

However, I noticed that I'm pretty much the only one in our Order who feels this way. The others, they like to hover far overhead in Storm Crow form, or lurk in the shadows far away from the action, scrounging up tiny little scraps of overheard intel.

Omnuron, I know they're just doing what you taught us to do, and I know this is safer...but it's just not as effective! I think we need to be more aggressive in our "information gathering" to really get results. You may not always approve of my methods, but nothing loosens a sucker's tongue like a little blood. And since we're already embedded deep within enemy territory, why not do a little damage while we're there?

Makes perfect sense to me!

So anyway, I thought I'd help you out with some tips and pointers I've picked up over the years! That way, we can train more druids on the fine art of recon, infiltration, and of course, a little precision knife-work!

I can't wait!

Thisalee's Guide to Practical Stealth and Espionage
by Thisalee Crow

Hey there! So you've decided to join the Druids of the Talon, and you don't know where to begin. Well, the first thing you need to know is, get a knife. But the second thing you need to know, is what we're not!

(I'll explain the knife thing later.)

We're druids, yes, but we're not front-line fighters, standing toe-to-toe with our enemies, clawing and biting away in our feral forms. And neither are we spellcasters, blasting our foes or healing our allies with Ysera's blessings.

Don't get me wrong, we CAN do these things in a pinch, but our unique talents and skills are much better utilized performing more specialized roles. Surveillance, long-distance message delivery, gathering vital enemy information - these are our jobs! While our rowdy Druids of the Claw cousins brawl away and keep our foes busy, we can sneak by unnoticed and find out what they're really up to!

Reconnaissance
Now, Omnuron says we should focus on silence and subterfuge, and get our information through eavesdropping or aerial observation. This isn't a bad start, but why stop there? We've got the moves - let's use them! An effective Druid of the Talon can single-handedly cripple an enemy advance by taking out their proverbial kneecaps.

One of our top priorities while on recon is to keep an eye out for any battle plans or troop orders. These are like gold! Sometimes we get lucky, and the enemy just leaves them out in plain sight for anyone to find. If you have time, don't actually take them, but instead, memorize them or make a copy! If they never realize that we know what they're planning, we can tell our forces and counter their moves, or better yet, ambush them! Have you ever seen a brigade of filthy demons walk right into a trap, all the while thinking that they're outmaneuvering us? It's so much fun.

Now, if you don't have time to carefully study their plans, then just pocket them or burn them when you leave. Sure, they'll know something's wrong, but it'll throw them into disarray and make them wonder what else we know. It'll either buy us time, or it'll allow us to go on the offensive and push them back! It's not quite as good, but it's still pretty effective.

Furthermore, remember to keep an eye out for any secondary objectives, no matter how bizarre they might be. I know, I know...it doesn't really make much sense to be playing botanist while you're busy risking life and limb prowling around behind enemy lines. But try to satisfy their requests. They probably have a good reason! They'd better, anyway...

Sabotage
Another task that we excel at is the fine art of SABOTAGE. What's better than stealing a Twilight Cultist list of objectives and bring it back to our side? Why, changing that list and letting the buffoons defeat themselves!

Or, if you're up against two different groups that have made some kind of unholy alliance, then get in there and break up that terrible partnership! A little select theft here, a little planting of "evidence" there, and pretty soon you can just sit back and watch their fragile truce disintegrate like an old, dried-up leaf. It's like music to the ears!

There are also less direct ways of hampering your foes, especially if you can get access to their armories or supplies! Loosen their spearheads, smash (or poison) all their potions, sever the straps on their armor...little things, but they add up to a pretty severe disadvantage! They'll never know what hit them!

Witnesses (Don't leave any!)
This is as good a time as any to mention enemy guards who might be protecting their intel. Sometimes you simply won't be able to reach some valuable information without confronting some grunt or guard posted to watch over it. I've seen veteran druids spend hours carefully picking their way through an enemy stronghold, only to turn away in frustration when they see that the scroll or book they're seeking is being protected by a few grunts.

I don't really understand the problem, here. Don't want to be detected because some jerk is in the way? Take him out. Permanently.

What?

Now, we're pretty good at a lot of things, but removing an enemy quietly and without attracting attention isn't really one of them. Sure, we can float down unseen from above, but then what? Claw at them with our talons? Peck them in the nose? Alternately, we can sneak up in our feline form, but have you ever tried clawing someone to death without roaring and howling like a...well, a wild nightsaber? It's just not in our nature. (Hah!)

This is why it's crucial to bring along a good, sturdy blade, friends. You want something small that won't interfere with your shapeshifting, but it should be strong and tapered to a nice, sharp point. We're Druids of the Talon - it only makes sense to have a lethal one at our disposal.

And don't get some flimsy cheese-cutter! You want a blade that's solid and heavy, something you can really put your weight behind - you never know when you might need to bash open a drawer, knock a prisoner unconscious, or other unexpected, random tasks!

As for those pesky guards or sentries? Simply sneak up and get behind them, perform a little ear-to-ear action, and they'll be down for the count with nary a sound. If you need to bring them down, a hard kick to the back of their knees will drop them right down to convenient knife level.

Alternately, if you'd prefer, a stab right to the spine does the trick pretty well, too. If they're heavily armored, you can aim for where the neck of their armor meets the base of their helmet for a quick kill, or failing that, the soft mail right under one's arm, and the lung beneath it, is always a good bet.

Oh, and make sure you cover their mouths - even a final gasp or gurgle can be enough to attract unwanted attention! In fact, if you're up against someone larger than you, do your knife-work, then shift into dire bear form and squash them to the ground. Yelling for help with a fatal dagger wound is pretty hard, but doing it while a massive bear is rolling around on top of you is near impossible. (It's also pretty funny. For us, anyway.)

Now, some Druids think we shouldn't get involved in combat...that we shouldn't get distracted, but instead focus on "fact-finding." Bah! Like I always say, facts are best found on corpses. You never know what type of clue or useful info you'll find on the average cultist or Old God devotee. Besides, one grunt taken out silently today is one less grunt that can kill us tomorrow! If we get the chance, I say absolutely go ahead and thin out the enemy's ranks.

Added bonus - demoralization! Who says you have to be one of those shady Warlocks to frighten people? By dispatching them in their own base/cave/whatever, you'll really throw the fear of Aviana into them! And if they keep jumping at shadows, wondering if there's one of our number hiding within, we've done our job well. They'll think twice before messing with us again!

Tools and Equipment
I've already mentioned a good dagger, but there's plenty of other useful tools you should outfit yourself with before heading into the field! Don't overlook them - they can make the difference between a successful recon mission and an early cairn.

When you're padding around in feline form, you will be able to smell and hear your enemies, as long as they're warm-blooded creatures like humans, elves, ogres, etc. Sometimes you'll need those keen senses when not in cat form, though, so be sure to carry some Blackened Worg Steaks with you. Avoiding enemy patrols is a lot easier when you know exactly where they are! On a similar note, if they've got hounds or beasts roaming about, you can gulp down some Tracker Snacks to be able to sniff them out.

Another helpful device is an Ornate Spyglass. These things are fragile, bulky and awkward to carry, but they do what they're supposed to do. Want to know what an enemy commander is holding, from a few hundred yards away? Need to closely inspect an approaching figure? A few seconds peering through one of these and you'll have the intel you need. The enemy won't even know you're around.

(PS: The Gnomes also make a special version of the Spyglass. Don't use it. Trust me.)

Finally, sometimes things just go terribly wrong, and you need to make an hasty escape. I always make sure to have an Invisibility Potion or two handy, for true emergencies. Remember, as much as you might enjoy carving up a few, we're not really intended for long fights! Strike silently, strike quickly, then get out!

Conclusion
Our roles are less flashy than the Druids of the Claw, and we don't always get the accolades that our kin tend to be showered with. But you know what? That's fine. Proper enemy reconnaissance and surveillance are what wins wars! They might be the bulk and body of our fighting forces, but we're the strike force, the shock troops, the scouts. It takes finesse, skill and patience. And sometimes, it takes a person who's not afraid to get their hands a little dirty to get the job done.

(And really, that's the best part, isn't it?)

Show/Hide Letter Notes
I knew that I HAD to do a Thisalee letter...I just wasn't sure what to do for it! She's got such a fun, vibrant personality already, and yet, there's a real edge to her. It's funny and great to see in an NPC, but it's actually a little alarming to sit back and realize just how excited and hungry for action she is. Ah well, it makes for a fun experience.

I get the strong impression that even among the Druids of the Talon, Thisalee is a little wild and crazy. In comparison, Omnuron seems so calm and normal, and Thisalee so...unrestrained. It seemed the classic case of the old mentor /facepalming or groaning as Thisalee continues to go get into all sorts of trouble...sort of a Calvin feel to her. I thought it'd be funny to expand on this feeling, really make you feel sorry for poor old Omnuron, having to deal with such a maverick under his wing.

I really also like the idea that the Druids of the Talon are Malfurion's "special forces", the group that gets called upon to do the morally-dubious tasks, the dirty work, etc. Not only are they well-suited for the espionage elements, but they really would make great assassins, infiltrators, saboteurs etc. It's just not something you'd normally think of when you think druids, which is maybe one of the reasons it works so well!

I also thought it interesting that Thisalee uses a knife, very noticeably. Not only is it mentioned a few times in her gossip text, but it's used in a quest, and when you encounter it later on, her armor is all exactly the same, but she's gotten a new dagger! I considered why she might have one, and realized that for all their stealth, druids really AREN'T naturally equipped for some dark and gritty assassination work. They really would need a tool or weapon of some sort, which could also be used for miscellaneous utility tasks as well. A dagger made perfect sense, in that regard.

Finally, I tried to keep Thisalee's upbeat, optimistic demeanor throughout the letter. It's funny - it's a fine line between being optimistic because you're confident, and being optimistic because you're dumb or naive. And while you get the impression that Thisalee is young, she definitely does not seem stupid. Brash, confident, maybe a little overconfident, but not stupid! However, like most maverick personalities, you can definitely see a little recklessness in her that will one day lead her into a situation where she's bitten off a little more than she can chew...hence, the inclusion of the equipment section, to show that she's at least taken some precautions and had some escape tricks up her sleeves. :)

Of Blood and Honor

2011-11-21T10:37:00.000-08:00

(This tattered parchment is ragged with age, and has the soft, weathered feel that comes from being read countless times over the years.)

Hello, little one. This is your father.

It is with heavy heart that I write this to you. By the time you are old enough to understand this letter, our lives will have irrevocably changed, one way or another. I cannot begin to describe how difficult it has been to make this decision, and even now, my heart flutters, uncertain. But I suppose sometimes life forces you to make difficult decisions.

I fear that you'll no doubt hear many bad things about me as you grow older - that people will look upon my actions and condemn them as evil, and label me a traitor. I fear that others will look down upon you for the decisions I have made.

I am sorry. With all my heart, with all my soul, I am sorry for doing this to you.

I would not blame you if you grew up resenting me, for ruining our name and casting such a negative shadow over your bright young life. I would not blame you at all. A father should protect his family and provide for them, not force them to live in suffering, ashamed of his deeds. No child should have to grow up embarrassed of their lineage.

I pray this does not happen. You are too young to really know what the Light is, but Light, if you are listening, please protect my family. For what I do, I do alone. If there must be repercussions for my actions, if a price must be paid for my sins, let them fall upon my shoulders and mine only. Do not let my beloved wife and my only child suffer for my stubbornness, for they are innocent. Watch over them, Light...for I will not be able to.

Even now, doubt plagues my thoughts, and I wonder if I am doing the right thing. To give up my home, my career...to give up everything, and for what? For what cause do I fight? Surely I have given enough to this kingdom, with my years of loyal service and devotion to its cause. I fought against the Horde, I defended our borders against all who would endanger us, tirelessly and without fail.

And now, the years are catching up to me. My reflexes are slower, my joints ache a little more when I go to sleep each night. Haven't I done enough? Surely I have earned a chance to live out my life in peace with my cherished family?

My head asks me these questions, but it is my heart that answers. There are some things that you simply have to fight for, even if they come at great cost. You will understand this someday, when you are older.

I will not try to explain everything that has happened in this note, but I need you to know that what I did, I did for honor's sake. Honor is an important part of what makes us human, my child. Our words and our deeds must count for something in this world.

They will call me a renegade, brand me a villain. I know this, and though it grieves me to lose everything that I have worked so hard to achieve, I am resolute. For I know that my heart is pure, that I have remained true to my beliefs.

I do not hate those who cast me out into the wild, exiled me from the only home I have ever known. I do not hate those who will disparage my name and proclaim me a traitor, shouting it in the streets for everyone to hear. And while it deeply saddens me to see those I once considered close friends and confidantes now spit at my feet in disgust...while I lament that they would be willing to so easily forget years of loyalty and friendship at the blink of an eye...I do not hate them either.

I do not hate them...but I hate what they have become.

I was offered a way to save face, you know. I do not know how my legacy will be recorded, so allow me to tell you directly and honestly, so that if nothing else, you know what kind of man your father was.

If I went along with their agreement, I would not be punished for my rebellious actions, and I would be able to return to my home, to my family, and enjoy the rest of my life in peace. I wanted to accept their offer, so that I might remain with you and your mother. I wanted to accept and go home as if nothing was wrong, so badly.

But the cost was simply too great. For their 'kindness', they asked me to betray everything I stood for, to throw it away and tell the world that I had been wrong, and that I was sorry for my crimes.

But how can I apologize for something I do not regret? Complying to their demands would be to betray everything I am and everything I hold dear. For years I had fought for our liberty and freedom, and the morals and lessons I learned from those struggles have shaped me into the man I am today. How can they ask me to discard these sentiments, when they are sentiments I believe in with all my heart? I fought for those beliefs, I killed for them. If necessary, I would have died for them.

And so, I made the only decision honor would permit.

I told them, and awaited their judgement, surprise and outrage in their eyes. I did not have to wait long. Exile, came their furious decree. Exiled to the untamed wilderness, stripped of my estate and holdings, doomed to life out the rest of my life as an outcast. "May the Light have mercy on your soul," came the final dagger in my heart. A blessing...or a curse.

I had trusted them, and I had given them everything I had within me to give. And this is what they gave me in return.

No, my child. I did not betray them. If anything, they betrayed me.

I hope that one day, you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I know it is asking a great deal, but I hope that you will understand why I did what I did, and maybe, just maybe, you will look back on me and be proud of me for fighting for what I believe in.

Please, do not search for me, for the life of the exile is no place for a child. My road will be dangerous and unforgiving, and I would never forgive myself if you were to come to harm while trying to find me. I have done you enough harm already in your short life - do not add that to my list of sins.

Be a good person, and do not be afraid to stand up for your beliefs. Be strong, and have the courage to trust in your convictions, even when the rest of the world is shouting that you are wrong. Trust your heart, for it is the one thing in this world that will never lead you astray. It is what separates us from the beasts. It is what makes us human.

Farewell, my child. I want you to know that I love you dearly and that I shall always carry you close to my heart. You are my pride and my hope. May the world that awaits you later in life be a kinder, more understanding one that it is today.

Goodbye, Vanessa.

Show/Hide Letter Notes
Vanessa was always someone I intended to write a Letter for, in some format. I considered writing it from her father's perspective, but Vanessa had such a rich storyline in Westfall, it would be a shame not to use it.

Or would it? Actually, her story in Westfall was great. Maybe TOO great. After all, it told so much about her motivations, her goals, her personality. We basically knew her entire life story. I considered this, and wondered if there was even much still left to tell.

This has become a bit of a recurring theme in Cataclysm. There are so many awesome new NPCs, but the original point of the Letters was to shed some light on intriguing NPCs who didn't get any spotlight. Characters with potential, who hadn't received any lore love from Blizzard. However, so many fun NPCs introduced in Cataclysm DID receive decent stories! Whether it was quests, dialogue, or recurring appearances, we actually got to see a lot out of newcomers like Calder Gray or Thisalee Crow. Unlike in Wrath, we're not left wondering about them, or who they might be - we already know!

Now, of course there are still potential stories with them. We don't know EVERYTHING about them. But it's a little different.

In the case of Vanessa, I actually thought her story had been very well told. I could add to it, of course - her thoughts, her feelings, exactly what her relationship to the other Deadmines bosses is - but it almost felt like a bit of a waste, to expand further on a character who we already know so much about.

It did, however, occur to me that we don't actually how Van Cleef himself felt about his daughter. Before we know about Vanessa, Van Cleef was an interesting, Robin Hood-esque figure, who somewhat nobly fought against Stormwind's corrupt House of Nobles. His eventual methods may have been somewhat dubious, but his original cause and ambitions were quite fair. He was a great villain, because he wasn't truly evil like so many others - he was like Kael'thas or Illidan, conflicted and following his heart.

But then, introducing a daughter? I wondered what Edwin would have been thinking as he turned down the nobility's offer to become their pawn, knowing that to oppose them would result in punishment, exile, even death. Was he thinking about his family at that time? Was he thinking how his defiance would affect his daughter?

Then I realized, his story and his situation was almost exactly like Tirion's when Tirion defied the Order of the Silver Hand to defend Eitrigg, out of honor. (In the novel "Of Blood and Honor.") Both men knew that what they were fighting for - payment for their hard work for Edwin, and honor for Tirion - were right. And both refused to knuckle under and submit to the unfair demands of the authorities, knowing that they would be punished for it.

Tirion knew he had to do it, but he also felt incredibly guilty to be subjecting his family to such hardship. I suspect VanCleef would have felt the same, for his poor little daughter.

I wanted people to read this letter and assume it was Tirion behind the pen, and when they reached the end and realized it was actually Edwin, I hoped the revelation would be shocking. So I decided to write this letter in as sneaky a manner as possible, taking lines directly from Tirion's heartfelt letter to his son Taelan in Of Blood And Honor, and using a few descriptions to make it seem like it was Tirion writing this letter, not Edwin. Such as referencing the Light - something Tirion would definitely do, but would Edwin? Well, why not? Like most humans/residents of Stormwind, just because he wasn't able to wield the Light doesn't mean he didn't believe in it, or pray to it.

The shock I was trying to evoke was that while Tirion's actions were noble and brave...were Edwin's really that different?

It wasn't easy, coming up with thoughts/messages that both men would say to their child, given their different backgrounds and all...but there were some similarities to work with. VanCleef DID serve Stormwind quite loyally before becoming a stonemason, as an assassin/roofwalker of SI:7. And honor WAS important to him - when the House of Nobles refused to pay the Stonemasons Guild after repairing the city, a few members of the guild, including VanCleef, were offered government jobs if they would turn their back on the guild and play along. But Edwin refused to betray his fellows, which gave birth to the rebellion that would become the first remnants of the Defias Brotherhood.

Also, what about a picture? What the hell kind of picture could I use that would fit both Tirion (Lordaeron, the Light, Paladin) AND Edwin (Stormwind, Stonemasons, SI:7)? I decided to go with two pictures - one of Stormwind's Cathedral of Lights, which should tie in with both characters, and a picture of kids, so that hopefully, readers would assume I meant Taelan...when in reality, I meant Vanessa. (Thanks, little Sally Whiteman/Renault Mograine/Jimmy Vishas.)

The title was the same deal - hopefully people who had read the book and were familiar with Tirion's ordeal would assume this letter was about him.

All in all, it was a tricky letter to write, but not impossible. And if people are "tricked" and experience the letter as I had hoped, it'll be worth it. ;D

Oh, and if some of Edwin's letter sounds familiar, it's because I lifted large parts of it directly from the letter Tirion wrote to Taelan before his exile:

My dear Taelan,

By the time you’re old enough to read this, I will have been gone a long time. I can’t adequately express how painful it is to have to leave you and your mother behind, but I suppose that sometimes life forces you to make difficult decisions. I fear that you’ll no doubt hear many bad things about me as you grow older—that people will look upon my actions and condemn them as evil. I fear that others will look down upon you for the decisions I have made.

I won’t try to explain everything that’s happened in this note, but I need you to know that what I did, I did for honor’s sake. Honor is an important part of what makes us men, Taelan. Our words and our deeds must count for something in this world. I know it’s asking a great deal, but I hope that you will understand that someday.

I want you to know that I love you dearly and that I’ll always carry you close to my heart.

Your life and your deeds will be my redemption, son. You are my pride and my hope. Be a good man. Be a hero.

Goodbye.

Dragon Soul

2011-11-20T13:52:00.000-08:00

To Khaz'goroth, almighty Shaper and Forger of the world,

Salutations from your humble Earth-Warder, keeper of Azeroth's lands and mountains. Recent events have caused me great alarm, mighty one, and I have been under great personal duress contemplating the future. However, I have come to the conclusion that what I do now is not an act of rebellion or disaster, but merely the first step down the path to truly becoming one with the precious planet I oversee. And I have you, my patron, to thank for...well, everything.

Recently, I sensed a powerful aura emanating from within the bowels of the land, reaching outward, combing and effusing through the soil and stone. I had never felt anything quite like its touch. It felt...strange and foreign, and yet, incredibly pleasing and soothing to my soul. None of the other Aspects felt anything unusual, so I can only deduce that it is my innate connection to the earth itself that has attuned my senses to these curious emanations.

Curious, I looked in on the mortal races who dwelt far underground, to see if they had developed some impressive new device or source of magic that would account for the odd sensations, but the aura stretched far beyond them, deep into the planet's innards. I extended my will farther, deeper into Azeroth's core, determined to find and identify this mysterious feeling.

Imagine my surprise when I encountered not the untouched, raw rock that I expected, but rather, an elaborate and incredibly powerful system of mystical wards and barriers, the likes of which I had never seen. They were similar to Malygo's handiwork, and yet, I knew immediately that they were far more extensive and ancient than my brother's arcane abilities.

Tentatively, I tested their limits, and quickly determined that their power was beyond my own...indeed, perhaps all beyond the power of all the Aspects put together! To say I was apprehensive would be vastly understating my true emotions.

I could not pierce or pass through these wards, but I realized that perhaps I would not have to, to determine what lay beyond. I am, after all, master over all earth. I spoke to the rock and dirt upon which these wards were laid, and convinced the earth to flatten and twist, contorting the magic emblazoned onto the stone itself.

Soon, the wards had shifted aside to reveal a small gap in the barrier. Too small for a Dragon, and certainly a Dragon Aspect, but not too small for a mortal. I chuckled as I spoke the words that would transform me into the tiny bipedal form I had adopted but a mere century earlier. I would have to thank Nozdormu for foreseeing the usefulness of such transformations.

I approached the breach cautiously, for whatever had been imprisoned within must be an entity of great power, judging by the protective magics used to contain it. I gathered a shield of molten rock to floating before me and encased my soft, unscaled flesh in a shell of protective adamantite. Whatever was inside would not find me a vulnerable target. I called forth a blazing globule of magma to illuminate my way, and stepped inside.

Oh mighty Khaz'goroth...the sight I beheld was one that defied all logic. In all of my years, I had never witnessed such an unusual phenomenon. Even now, I find myself at a loss for words, which as Alexstrasza would say, is no small feat.

Perhaps I can best describe what lay within was...power. Raw, pure, unbridled power, only barely contained within physical form. Do not understand me, mighty one, I know power. Before your touch, I was a Dragon, one of the mightiest creatures to walk upon Azeroth. I thought myself powerful. But then, we received your gifts, and I became an Aspect. It was not until that moment that I realized how foolish, even laughable, my previous notion had been.

Power! I thought I knew power. I knew nothing.

We trembled in your presence, mighty Khaz'goroth. Myself, my brothers, my sisters...we were but ants before your kind, diminutive and inconsequential. We looked up at you, awestruck. Gods stared back. Gods who bestowed upon me the power of the earth itself, or granted my siblings power over life, time, magic.

I was humbled, and ashamed. To think that I had at once point thought myself as almighty, when creatures such as you existed! It just showed how little I knew of this boundless world. Nothing could ever compare to you. I knew this to be true, with all my heart.

Until I stepped through those wards and felt what was on the other side, that is.

The...sensations I felt upon entering the chamber...they go beyond comprehension. The creatures were present, and yet they were not so much sentient beings as much as they were manifestations of energy and emotion. They swirled about me, not truly there, and yet, drowning me in their caress. They flowed into the seams in my armor, passed through my protective spells as if though sifting through fine sand, and surged into my soul. And then this gentle, collective intellect began to speak. And I listened.

They were not a threat, not some terrible monster to be slain as I had feared. They were a divine species, sent to assist and aid those chosen by the stars, and they had waited for eons until the time was right to reveal themselves. Until the time was right, and until there arose a champion worthy of their gifts. They had watched my selfless devotion to this planet, to the countless species thriving on its surface, and they had decided that I was to be their vessel.

I felt calm, yet excited. Though they uttered not a single word in any discernible language aloud, I understood their message perfectly. And they understood me, to an extent no one ever had. Not Alexstrasza, not Malygos, not even you, oh masterful one. Their words sung to me, resonated with my soul, and made me realize what truly lay within my heart.

Everything I had ever wanted, no matter how small or how unusual, everything I had only dreamed of...I had been right. I knew it now, and my spirit sang with delight. I had been right, all these years, but I had locked those dreams away within a prison of doubt, fastened with bars of hesitation.

I spent many days in solitude, contemplating what I had discovered. Should I tell the others? Would they understand? Or would they look upon my desires with scorn and derision?

In the end, I decided I would not tell my siblings, not yet. They simply would not understand. How could they? I toiled for our world, shifting mountains and diverting the land itself to better suit the needs of Azeroth's inhabitants, physically exerting my will upon the planet. But their eyes were focused not on the physical, material realm, but on higher, more immaterial levels of existence. I moved rocks, while my sisters held sway of life and dreams! I opened fissures in the ground, while my brothers traveled through time, or were attuned with the ley energies of the entire planet.

Our lives, our roles...they were leagues apart.

I did not begrudge them their duties, for I knew my role as Earth Warder was just as important, if less impressive. But I also realized that I simply understood and viewed the world on a different scale than they did.

My siblings were...detached. To them, the planet was their responsibility. Their duty. Azeroth and its people were a precious egg to be nurtured and cared for, and protected. It was a charge they took very seriously, and their devotion to our world was nothing short of admirable.

But while they protected our world...I lived it. I felt every tremor, felt every footfall upon its soil as if it were rain dancing over my scales. When I stretched my legs, the earth trembled. When I stamped my foot, mountain peaks rumbled and shook. Alexstrasza's life sprouted from my skin, Ysera's dreams soared upon my breath, Nozdormu's visions beheld my past and present, and Malygos wove the energy sparking in my blood.

My brothers and sisters were the guardians of Azeroth.

I am Azeroth.

And so, I did not tell them, for they would not understand. Not only would they not understand...but I knew, deep within my heart, they would fear my discovery. They were comfortable, content in their positions as almighty arbiters of this world, and what I had found would rock their stable, pleasant existences. They would resist me, tell me to leave the mysteries of the dark recesses where I had found them.

But how could I? They did not know how my claws tighten imperceptibly when I hear Alexstrasza talk about how she had blossomed life from the bare rock in some desolate, barren region, nor do they sense the emptiness inside my chest when listening to Nozdormu describe the infinitely spiraling intricacies of timelines and futures intertwined. They are master artisans, crafting and creating the most beautiful of works of art, while I am but a mere laborer toiling about in the dirt and mud.

I was not their equal. I was barely fit to be in their presence.

But no more. Soon, all this would change.

I had doubts, at first. Who wouldn't, when faced with such a dilemma? But after much thought, I realized that this was no coincidence - this was simply my destiny. For after all, why else would you, in your infinite wisdom, grant me the power over the earth and all that dwelt within its depths, if you had not intended me to discover these beings? Who but myself had the humility to appreciate the gift these creatures had to offer? Who but myself could receive their power and infuse it into the planet itself?

You said it yourself, Khaz'goroth. The earth is the basis of all things. It is where we are rooted. Here is whence true strength comes. From deep places...within the world, and within oneself.

I have looked into the deep places. Within the earth, within my heart. I have found that which you speak of, oh mighty one. I have found true strength...true, genuine power.

As you intended. I understand this now.

I will honor your lessons, forger of worlds. I will embrace this power, for it ever has been intended for myself and myself only, hidden away so that only I might find it. With it in my grasp, I will truly, finally, stand on even keel with my siblings. I will change this world. No longer shall I be forced to shifting aside individual single stones or boulders like in the past - now, mountains shall fall and rise as I see fit, rivers shall sweep over the land where I direct them, carving their path into the soil. Entire civilizations will thrive as I cast my favor upon them, or be cast down into despair should they fail to show me - us - the respect we deserve.

The mortals have long celebrated and revered my sisters, spoke in awe of the untold magic wielded by my brothers. But few have ever appreciated all I have done for them, and by extension, nor have they honored you, Khaz'goroth. But this will change. Soon, they will know my name. They will feel the earth ripple beneath their feet and give thanks to my generosity, or hear the stone shudder in disapproval and know they have overstepped their boundaries. They will revere us, Khaz'goroth.

As it should be.

Finally, I know that my path is true, for when I returned to the chamber and accepted the tiniest fragment of the creatures' essence into myself, I watched in amazement - and admittedly, some alarm - as a small, fiery glow began to emanate from my skin. I felt an impossible warmth spread throughout my body, and I cried out, exulting as it washed over me. It was like a roaring flame had ignited within me, one that could not be contained by mere flesh and bone. A burning passion to lead, to make a difference. A passion for change!

As I rose, exhilarated, I noticed small flames flicker and lick out from between my scales, burning bright and pure before trailing off into the quiet stillness of the earth. Any lingering doubts and fears that were still clinging to my heart vanished in that moment, and I bowed my head deep to the ground in respect and awe. I had been right!

For even now, as if it were yesterday, I can still recall our meeting with you and your kin. Timeless, ageless Aman'Thul. Gentle, nurturing Eonar. Mysterious, cautious Norgannon.

And you, oh Khaz'goroth, stoic and resolute, wielding a hammer of purest mineral, flames dancing upon your burnished bronze skin. I felt a kinship to you as soon as I laid eyes upon you. You granted your blessing last, but as you did so, your stern eyes stared deep into my soul, and I felt your warm embrace as you granted me your power.

And now, deep within the earth, watching the tiny flames flitting over my ebon hide, invigorated by the indescribable swelling of power from but a moment's contact with these entities...it felt exactly the same. I recognized this feeling, and wept with joy at its familiar touch.

It was the touch of a god.

I always knew I was destined for greater things. I knew you had intended a higher purpose for me. And now, after my long years of dedication and patience, I had found it.

I will not disappoint you, Khaz'goroth. Your humble servant will not squander this opportunity, which you have waited so long for me to discover. I will seize this power, and embrace it. I will bear your mark, and all who lay their eyes upon the fire playing over my skin will know that they look upon your servant.

I will change myself...and in doing so, I will change the world.

After all, it was I who you chose to watch over this land. It was I, not Alexstrasza, not Malygos, who uncovered the otherworldly beings buried deep beneath the planet's crust. And it is I, not Ysera, not Nozdormu, who will unlock their secrets and share them with the universe.

I am Neltharion, of the Black Dragonflight, champion of the Titans. I am the master of earth and rock, and all that walk upon this planet's surface, or beneath it. The ground is my scales, the mountains, my horns, the rivers, my blood.

I am the Earth Warder.

I am Azeroth.

And it is time I embraced my destiny.

Show/Hide Letter Notes This letter came from a random conversation on Twitter, when Ashe asked who I thought Deathwing would write a letter to. I wasn't sure, but I figured maybe to Nefarian and Onyxia, or a journal with entries showing his descent into madness. Kelly suggested a letter addressed to Khaz'goroth instead, the Titan who granted Neltharion the his powers.

Inwardly, I groaned, not because it was a bad idea, but because I'm not super knowledgeable about Titan lore. However, after a bit of musing I thought it would make for a good letter. There were some common ties - the Old Gods being underground, Neltharion being given the power over the earth (coincidence?) and the kicker, the fact that Khaz'goroth appears as a bronze-skinned man covered in small flames, which is pretty damn similar to Deathwing's whole "bursting with magma/lava from within" theme.

So, maybe Deathwing way, way back discovered the Old Gods (which one is unimportant really, I treat them as a nameless collective presence in this letter) and wasn't sure what to do.

Keep in mind also that compared to the other Aspects, Neltharion's powers seem kinda lame. Like, power over all life? Power over TIME? Versus power over rocks and dirt. Even Khaz'goroth himself told Neltharion way back the bit about how his gift felt humble, but that the earth is the basis of all things, where true strength lies, etc. (We "re-hear" the Titans giving the Aspects their powers in the Twilight of the Aspects novel)

You know what? I bet Neltharion was a little insecure about his status as an Aspect, compared to his siblings. They all seemed like gods with their powers, while his were much more mundane and uninteresting. That insecurity, combined with the suspicion that Khaz'goroth had left the Old Gods in his domain on purpose for him to find, could easily explain why Neltharion succumbed to the Old Gods' promises of power.

If he did have these feelings of inferiority buried deep within himself, suddenly there is a huge parallel to his inner feelings and the sinister goals of the Old Gods, buried deep within Azeroth. Neltharion would think he was finding the inner strength Khaz'goroth spoke of, and in a way, it is true...and of course, in others, it's the exact opposite. I like the imagery.

I also really like the image of the other Aspects being guardians of Azeroth, but Neltharion thinking of himself (not inaccurately, really) as BEING Azeroth, personifying it.

Now, obviously the Old Gods tainted his mind a bit more than what this Letter describes, twisting his motivations and goals more towards power and ruling the world. But I think this is how they would have started chipping away at his resolve. The Neltharion writing this Letter doesn't want to take over the world, or destroy it. He just wants to be regarded as an equal (even in his own eyes), and make sure his patron Khaz'goroth gets the respect he deserves. After all, in his mind, he's deserved it.

All the twisty mind corruption and descent into evil and madness...that can all come later.

Line in the Sand

2011-11-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

Introduction

Mood: Excited

HELLO JOURNAL. THIS IS BRIGLAR. TOMORROW AT THIS TIME...WAIT, I THINK RICKET SAID I WAS SUPPOSED TO PRESS SOMETHING HERE WHEN I STARTED TALKING

HELLO

HELLO

OKAY THIS ISN'T WORKING, I THINK IT'S

HELLO

RICKET GET OVER HERE AND FIX TH

RICKET

RICKET

RICKET

VVVVV CCCCCCCCCCCCCPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

Aha! Victory! I see now, it was this little dial on the side. It says "Enthusiasm Regulator, Mark II." I have no idea what that is but Ricket said to make sure it's on whenever I used this machine to record my voice, so on it will remain.

Hello journal! Tomorrow at this time, I will no longer be in Orgrimmar! I have answered Warchief Hellscream's call and joined the brave Horde warriors who have ventured to the watery domain they are calling Vashj'ir!

However, I will not be fighting the vile naga or the filthy Alliance. As much as I would love to bathe my axe in their blood, the Horde needs other, mundane services if we hope to emerge victorious, such as innkeepers, vendors and flight masters. It is disappointing on a personal level, of course, but all duty is noble in service of the Horde, and I am proud to do my part for our cause.

And so begins my career as a Horde flight master. The Warchief informs me that I will be in charge of a small windrider roost on the only piece of land in the entire region, a vital entry point into our underwater excursion! I will be responsible for sending weary warriors home for rest, or receiving revitalized soldiers returning to the briny battlefield, raging far beneath the little island.

It does sound like a lonely job, but it is a crucial role, and someone has to do it! Tonight I will go introduce myself to the windriders being shipped out with me. I have always enjoyed the company of beasts, so perhaps the solitude will not be as bad as it sounds. And Ricket gave me this device to help pass the time. I am not really a writing-down orc so this is actually quite perfect.

Until tomorrow, journal!

Day 1

Mood: Content

Briglar here again. I am now sitting on the sandy beach of my new home, a jagged stretch of sand in the middle of the ocean. The Warchief was not exaggerating when he said it was the only bit of land around - there is nothing but open water around me, as far as the eye can see. If the sky is clear and I squint, I believe I can just make out the mountains of the Eastern Kingdoms' western shore, though I am not sure. It might just be a cloud.

The journey here was horrible. Without an established windrider post, I could not simply fly in, but had to sail out by boat. This would not normally be so bad, except that I had a company of surly windriders to escort! We could hardly swim. And of course, I also had a number of supplies needed to set up the flight station when I arrived on the island.

Fortunately, Orgrimmar's goblin carpenters had been well prepped for my needs. A sizable craft made of special materials had been loaded onto the boat, and after the captain and I had loaded it up with my precious cargo and my personal effects, I set sail.

It was a quiet voyage, with the sea stretching endlessly and silently before me. With nothing but the sun overhead to guide me, I began to grow nervous that I had sailed off-course and was drifting off to sea. And it was slightly alarming when the left side of the boat somehow burst into flame. Goblins! I swear.

However, I was worried for nothing, and that evening I spotted the telltale silhouette of the island slowly materializing in the horizon.

It is a curious island, journal. There is absolutely nothing of value on it - no minerals, no resources, nothing. But as I said, it is the only surface territory within miles, and so both the Horde and Alliance realized its strategic value. Initially there was a great deal of fighting over the tiny chunk of land, but very quickly both sides realized that the efforts were costing both factions in their mutual fight against the naga. Even the hotheaded Varian Wrynn realized the folly of continuing to waste Alliance lives when the real fight was taking place far beneath the island, deep underwater.

And so, a mutual truce was agreed upon to leave the isle as neutral territory, where warriors of either side could safely rest or take a flight back to the mainland. The Horde would have a single windrider post, and the Alliance, a single gryphon roost.

I cannot say I am thrilled to be sharing my new home with Alliance soldiers, but if they do not hassle me, I will leave them be. I am here to help my Horde brothers, not fight senseless battles against silly humans and dwarves! But they had better keep their distance if they know what is good for them.

When I arrived, I saw a small cooking fire on the island's northern end. It appears my Alliance counterpart had arrived before me. I gave them a wide berth and docked to the south, and let the restless windriders out so they could stretch their wings. While they were preoccupied, I unloaded my supplies and carried them over to the side, then set about dismantling the ship. Noble ship! You served me well! But now you will serve a new purpose!

When I was done, I roped the boards and planks together into sturdy perches for the beasts. They weren't pretty, but they did the job, as evident when the windriders landed upon them a few moments later. I was all set up and ready for business! I would be the best flight master in the neighborhood. Well, better than the Alliance guy. I guess that we make up the entire neighborhood. But still.

Before it got dark, I spent a long time studying my map. It was essential that I memorize the locations of our Eastern Kingdoms camps and outposts, since it would be my job to ensure the windriders knew where they were going. Every young Grunt has heard the horror stories about hopping on an Orgrimmar-Ashenvale flight, and mistakenly getting sent on a hours-long tour across Kalimdor, finally landing in Silithus where some giant bug wanders by and squashes them flat.

I studied the names and their identifying marks, and checked my meticulously-organized crate of collars, each branded with a specific, unique scent corresponding to a different roost. All seemed to be in order. By Garrosh's great galoshes, there are so many of them! I scratched my head in confusion as I studied the tiny diagram. Did we really need SEVEN flight points in the Eastern Plaguelands? Can't they just ride their mounts? Or, I don't know, walk? Kids today.

I decided to send a test message to one of the "nearby" destinations, Grom'gol in Stranglethorn Vale. I slipped on the appropriate collar - a pleasant pungent mushroom smell, I noticed - and attached a brief message requesting that they send word via zeppelin back to Orgrimmar, informing Warchief Hellscream of my arrival and confirmation that our aerie was ready for use.

As the beast disappeared into the distance, I felt a vague sense of dread, hoping I hadn't sent the poor beast off to get lost in the wilderness and die. Doras had warned me about these feelings, that I had to get used to them and trust in the animals, but it was still nerve-wracking!

However, within an hour's time the windrider had returned with a letter stating that my message had been passed on. To my delight, there was also a freshly cooked haunch of raptor! It smelled delicious. It had cooled on the long flight over the sea, but it was still very tasty. I hoped the smell drifted downwind to the Alliance camp and made them hungry! Haha! Eat that, humans! I mean...don't eat it. Because you can't eat it. Because it's mine. I mean...bah, whatever.

My belly full, I settled back against the rocks to sleep. It was was strange having no other voices around except my own. But at least I have always found myself to be pretty good company.

Day 2

Mood: Still excited

So far, no Horde travelers in need of my services, but I maintain my careful vigil, watching the skies for incoming arrivals, and watching the shore for tired warriors ready to return home. I am sure they will arrive soon, once they learn that I am here. I am ready!

When daylight broke through the clouds, I decided to explore the rest of the island. The sand is littered with the remains of previous battles. Sealed crates full of ammunition lie half-buried and abandoned, and a half-finished guard tower towers alarmingly overhead, crooked and leaning. I really, really hope it doesn't fall down one day. That would be very bad.

As I roamed down the beach, I saw the Alliance flight master emerge from his little tent, yawning. It was a human male, dressed in a gaudy red jerkin with a flamboyant yellow crest blaring on the front. He looked like a skinny hot pepper stumbling over the sand.

He began rummaging in a small chest at his feet, and didn't notice me watching him from down the beach. I decided to return back to my end of the island before he saw me. The island was neutral, peaceful territory, but I didn't know if he had seen me arrive, and I didn't want to startle him into attacking out of surprise. Being forced to kill the human over a misunderstanding would not look very good, not when we were supposed to have a truce.

I chuckled to myself as I walked back to my camp. A tent! The human had brought a tent, like he was at some kind of fair. What a pampered lifestyle they live. He had also strung up some sort of cloth roof on some tall posts to provide a shaded area. Typical, can't even stand a little ocean spray and sun. I wondered if he had brought a little sun hat and umbrella as well. Ah, humans.

The rest of the day passed without incident, or event. No travelers arrived, so I spent the rest of the day firming up the windrider posts and piling up the remaining wood left over from my ship. Dinner consisted of dried pork and hardtack. It was plain, and was certainly no roast raptor, but I figured I'd better get used to it.

Day 5

Mood: Bored

Still no arrivals, nor departures. I began to wonder if the Warchief has received my message? Perhaps no one knew I was here yet. Just to be safe, I sent another missive to Grom'gol asking them to maybe send Orgrimmar a little reminder. They sent back word that they would, but sadly, did not send back any raptor this time. Ah well.

I decided to try my hand at fishing. Not only would it be a way to pass the time, but I was quickly realizing that a diet of dried meat and biscuits was going to become quite tiresome. I unwrapped a pole I had purchased from Lumak before I left, and with some difficulty, attached the tiny bobber that he had suggested. When I get back, I will have to ask him why he uses such tiny string and wire! It just doesn't seem very practical.

Unfortunately, I did not catch anything other than a piece of drifting wood and an old boot, but it was rather peaceful and relaxing to watch the ocean drift by, waiting for the line to jump. The water is remarkably clear this far from land, and I could vaguely see bright colors moving far, far beneath the surface. I didn't know if they were Horde, Alliance, or even merely plantlife on the ocean floor, but in any case, it was still interesting.

I kept the hunk of wood and the boot I had fished up as souvenirs. It's not like I didn't have room, and anyway, there was no point throwing it back in the water. I put them in a little pile beneath the nearby unfinished tower. I figured that since my warrior brothers and sisters will be bringing home war trophies, captured weapons, scales or horns from vanquished foes, etc, I may as well do the same. Of course, a boot is nowhere near as impressive as a dragon's claw, but I am not ashamed of my duty here. I may not have killed a terrible foe to get it, but we all must serve in our own way.

Maybe I will go throw them at the human.

Day 8

Mood: Wary

Had my first encounter with the human today.

Still hadn't had any luck with fishing, so I had been testing different spots around the island. So far I have caught some tin cans, one dead jellyfish, and five more boots. All of them are left boots! Are there a bunch of people running around missing their left feet? Is it the latest fashion trend now to go bootless? I do not understand this at all.

Anyway, I hadn't had any luck fishing around the windriders, so I moved a bit farther north. It was very foggy out, a thick fog that blocked my sight. I settled in to see what I dragged up today. Despite my lack of success so far, I felt I was getting better! Sooner or later I would be bound to catch something edible.

Imagine my surprise, journal, when the fog cleared to reveal the human standing only an axe-throw away! He too was fishing (the copycat!) and seemed equally surprised. My hand went for my axe, but I had left it back at camp! Fortunately, I saw that the human too was unarmed.

We stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments. He broke the silence and asked me something, but it was in the human tongue, which I am not familiar with. I asked if he knew orcish, but he shrugged and clearly did not understand. Stalemate!

I pointed back over my shoulder at my post, then pointed to where I stood, then at myself. He caught on quickly, and repeated the gesture, indicating his own side. I nodded. The south for me, the north for him. I could live with that. We had to be neighbors, but there was no reason we had to be close ones.

Our agreement reached, we continued fishing. I had not yet caught a fish, but neither had the human, and I certainly wasn't going to let him beat me! It eventually got so dark that we had to stop, though we each had accumulated quite a pile of fished-up garbage by that time. No winner this round, human. Your dignity narrowly survives to live another day!

Day 9

Mood: Hostile

I CAN FEEL YOU WATCHING ME, HUMAN! YOU STAY ON YOUR SIDE! CROSS AND APPROACH AT YOUR OWN PERIL! YOU DO NOT WANT TO INVOKE MY WRATH!

Apparently I can override the Enthusiasm Regulator with sufficient enthusiasm. Hahaha, wait until Ricket hears that I broke her machine.

Day 10

Mood: Wet

Raining really hard today. Perhaps the human's tent was not such a silly idea after all. Have constructed makeshift hut out of leftover boards and boot laces, but still pretty cold. Beginning to have slight regrets.

Day 14

Mood: Dejected

Had my first arrival today, journal. Sadly, it was just an annoyed Blood Elf who told me he had meant to fly to Booty Bay. At least I got to send him on his way. (A pleasant coconut smell!) I asked him how the fight in Vashj'ir was going, but he just gave me an odd look and said he "hated that miserable place." :\

Day 19

Mood: Concerned

Had not seen the human in a few days. Was troubled by this, though am not quite sure why. I suppose he is okay, for a human. He leaves me alone and is pretty quiet. It could certainly be worse. It could be a gnome. They never shut up!

I went for a jog and, when I reached the center of the island, snuck a look northward to see if the human was still there. He was there, but he was sitting on a little stool in front of his tent, looking pale. (More pale than normal.) He looked very frail and weak, and tired. I think he was sick. Or it could be that our limited diet on the island was taking its toll. I have heard that humans have a more fragile constitution, and cannot even eat raw meat! It is no wonder he looked ill.

He looked up and noticed me, so I made a rude gesture at him before jogging back to my camp. Poor little human. Our job is the poop, and now he was sick? That could not be very fun.

I hope he gets better. (I guess.)

Day 21

Mood: Full

Great news, journal! I caught something today! I mean, something that was not thrown away by someone else. It only took me approximately 5,672 tries, but I finally pulled up a fish. An ugly, horrid thing, but still - fresh food!

I managed to catch a few more, and threw them in the cookpot with some of my other rations. Tonight I would dine on warm, delicious fish stew! Okay, it wasn't really delicious, but it was okay, and it was still a refreshing change of pace. It warmed me very nicely, fighting off the cool ocean breeze.

After I finished, I looked at the pot and sighed. I was stuffed, and there was no way to store the remaining stew. May as well not waste it.

I hefted the pot and crept up the beach. The human was sitting at his campfire, looking even scrawnier than normal. He had big bags under his eyes and he looked a little green. You know, the color works for us orcs, and maybe the trolls, but on a human? It is not great.

He saw me approaching and fumbled for his sword. I stopped where we had divided the territory and set the pot down, pointing at it. He looked very skeptical - I suppose I would be, too - so I knelt and ate a spoonful to show him it wasn't poisoned. He didn't show any sign of rising to come get it, so I shrugged and left. If he did not eat it, so be it.

Day 27

Mood: Full

The human did eat the food! I found the cookpot where I left it, empty, with a note attached to it. I looked over at the human and he nodded and saluted. He also looked a little better, with some (gross) pink back in his face. I looked down at the note. It was written in human, so I couldn't understand it. Oh well.

When I went to cook my dinner that night, I noticed that the human had left some cheese in the pot! I devoured it with delight with my stew. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to be stuck here with this particular human, after all.

Day 47

Mood: Content

Am beginning to wonder if the fighting in Vashj'ir is over, and everyone just forgot to tell the human and I.

In any case, life on our island is okay. After smelling some delicious aromas drifting down from the human's camp, I realized that he is a much better cook than I am. However, I have more success fishing, or if I am truly bored, digging up clams and crabs like I did in my youth on the shores of Durotar. After much hand-waving and cautious gesturing, we came to some agreements. Now I catch all the food and bring it to our central camp, and the human cooks it up for us.

We also keep active by sparring during the day. At first, when I approached the human with the wooden swords I had fashioned out of old crates, he drew back in alarm. I rolled my eyes (I had a perfectly good axe, as he well knew. Why would I attack him with a wood blade?) and tossed him his weapon. It took some convincing, but gradually we worked out a nice little exercise routine. I was worried that he would not be any challenge, but he must have been trained like myself, for we are quite evenly matched. It is a nice way to stretch my muscles and pass the time.

It is funny, journal. I never would have thought I would become friends with a human, but that is what has happened. We cannot understand a single word the other says, and I do not even know his name, but I think I would be quite disappointed if he left or died. It would be so lonely here.

Oh, I hear the human banging the cookpot, he must be hungry. HOLD ON HUMAN, I HEAR YOU. KEEP YOUR UGLY RED SHIRT ON.

Bye for now, journal!

Show/Hide Letter Notes
When I think of the loneliest, most overlooked NPCs in Cataclysm, I think these two poor guys take the cake. All alone on a tiny little island, with nothing or no one else to keep them company, manning Flight Points that hardly ever get used. What a dreary life they must live!

From a writing perspective, this was also exactly the type of character I look for, for a true challenge. No dialogue, no quests, Briglar does NOTHING of importance in WoW, and yet to think of it from an in-character perspective, he performs a humble, yet very important role.

It's a little sad, too. Because you know Briglar would rather be underwater helping his Horde allies fight off the naga. But at the same time, he would understand that being the Flight Master, while not glorious or exciting, is necessary for the Horde as a whole, and that someone has to do it.

I thought it would be pretty funny to have Briglar and Francis strike up an odd, reluctant friendship, since they are both in the same boat. It's hard to maintain enmity or faction hate when you're essentially stranded on a desert island, with an "enemy" as your only company. (Not counting the Wind Riders or Gryphons...who wouldn't really count.)

Of course, there'd have to be some established truce beforehand, otherwise they probably would have fought. And I thought it would be great if, because of this rivalry, Briglar's initial aggressiveness towards Francis was limited to petty pranks and name-calling. It's the perfect scenario to also channel a little Cro Threadstrong.

Secretly, I am quite happy with the science I came up with for how Flight Masters direct their Wind Riders. It's not like they can just tell them "Okay, go fly to Tarren Mill", can they? But a range of varied, distinctive scents corresponding to different locations? I could see that working. Can you imagine the poor Wind Rider's pack/box that they would need, if they needed a collar or cloth for each available flight point? It would be ENORMOUS.

Justice

2011-11-15T17:13:00.000-08:00

Brothers and sisters of Thunder Bluff, you know me! For years I served you as your Elder Crone, as advisor to our High Chieftain, as wisened elder. Recent events have driven me from our home, but I could stay away no longer!

My name is Magatha Grimtotem! Hear my words!

For far too long have we sat dormant atop our peaceful mesas, growing docile and weak with content! Our once-mighty warriors busy themselves with corn and bread, while our enemies invade our lands and strike out against us, unopposed!

Look what they have done to us! Look at how we suffer! Do you see the smoke drifting westward on the autumn air? Do you smell the unmistakable scent of charred fur and scorched timber? These are all that remain of our beloved Taurajo, burned and butchered by Alliance dogs!

Oh, they did not dare challenge us in open combat, even a peaceful camp such as Taurajo. They fear our strength, fear the losses they would incur in open, honest combat, even with a mere trading post. No, the cowards from Theramore waited until our hunters had left for the fields, then fell upon our unsuspecting camp and razed it to the ground!

They slaughtered everyone they could find, my brethren! Civilians, merchants, all murdered in the blink of an eye. Even the children! Their bodies still lie in the smoldering wreckage, tiny tributes to the cruelty of humans, their brief, bright fires snuffed by butchers' hands!

I have personally interrogated one of these monsters, and do you know what he said? He DARED tell me that at the orders of their fiendish commander, they intentionally left a gap in their lines, so that some of our civilians could escape. And the whelp looked at me arrogantly, like he deserved to be lauded for only butchering SOME of the civilians population!

This is the type of beast that opposes us! These are the monsters lurking at our gates, waiting for us to show the slightest sign of weakness! If we do not fight back, we are doomed.

Also, I ask you, my brothers and sisters! Where is the Horde now? Garrosh Hellscream so boldly talks of his vaunted honor and warrior's pride, yet I see no orcs or trolls arriving from Orgrimmar to help us!

Oh, they gladly enlist our braves to serve in their militia, to provide the strength and size that makes up the Horde's military backbone when it is time to battle the Alliance. But when we need their support? They are nowhere to be found!

Their silence is deafening, friends. It shows you what they truly think of us!

Have they come to avenge our fallen kin, murdered for the sake of THEIR war?

NO!

Has Garrosh sent troops to help us retake Taurajo so we might recover our dead and properly lay them to rest?

NO!

Where was the Horde when our babies were burning? Where are our so-called allies now, in our hour of need?

Our dead kin cry out for justice! Their spirits linger in torment, unburied and trapped, unable to leave this plane to join our ancestors. Even now, as we speak, human scum rifle through the ruins, despoiling and pillaging the remains!

This is an outrage! Is it not enough that the humans murdered our friends and family, but now they desecrate the dead by plundering their corpses? We lived alongside them for years, perfectly willing to stay out of their way and let them live in peace. And this is what we got in return!

And yet, despite these atrocities, Taurajo still burns, and the guilty parties go unpunished! The ghosts of our fallen still wail their pain into the night, unavenged, yet here we stand, barely an hour's ride away, and we do nothing!

Where are our furious war parties? Why have we not retaken Taurajo, driven off the looters, and properly given our dead their proper repose?

Brothers and sisters, are we cowards? Are we weaklings? Have we lost our heart, our fighting spirit?

What has happened to us, that we would suffer such sacrilege without response?

The answer is Cairne.

I realize many of you hate me and my clan for our past actions, for attempting to take command of our people. And I know many of you, if not all of you, have not forgiven me. I understand this. I do. I grieve for those who fell that fateful night, and I realize now that I should have acted differently, without violence.

But I do not apologize for what I was trying to accomplish! Do you not see? This is exactly what I spoke out against, for all those years! This is exactly what I was trying to prevent!

I mourn for those who have fallen because of Cairne's foolish stubbornness, his refusal to listen to reason. Over and over again did I try to convince him that we were simply being used as fodder by the Horde, that we were little more than pawns in the Horde war machine. But Cairne, wise, trusting Cairne, insisted that this was untrue, that the orcs regarded us as brothers, as did the trolls.

I look out at you gathered here today, and I see not a single green or blue face amongst us.

Brothers.

I think not.

You might view our actions as treachery, as betrayal. But I did what needed to be done for our people! I did what needed to be done for us to survive!

Look out at the horizon, I implore you. Look at the Great Gate that pens us in like animals, the only thing keeping the rabid Alliance hounds from our throats! Behold the acrid smoke rising from the ruins of Taurajo! Think of our fallen, wandering the Barrens as ghosts, unable to join our ancestors because we have not avenged them!

Take in these sights, citizens of Thunder Bluff, and I ask you...who has truly betrayed the tauren people?

Is this what you truly want?

Friends, do you now see what Cairne's preachings of peace and passivity has wrought? The people of Camp Taurajo lay butchered on the grass, but we are hardly any better! They are dead, yes...but so are we. We have forsaken our pride, our courage, and our sense of duty to our beloved kin.

We are the dead.

We just haven't realized it yet.

Do not blame young Baine. I know he means well, that he cares for our people, but he has his father's heart. It is not his fault that we now lie on the brink of destruction, for he is doing his best working with what scraps his father left behind...scraps of a once-proud people who would now rather tend their crops than fight our foes.

Swords to plowshares, my friends. We fought hard, and we earned our peace. But such days are over. Oh, we can turn a blind eye as the Bloodhoofs would have us do, and hope the conflict passes us by. We can keep ignoring what is right in front of us, right until the moment a human sword plunges through our unarmored, defenseless chest.

Or we can pick up our fallen arms, brush off the dust and grime from years of inactivity, and make our enemies regret ever crossing our paths!

After all, what was PEACE gotten us? Our FRIENDS have not come to our defense! Cairne's gentle platitudes will not avenge our fallen. Baine's peaceful aspirations will not stop the Alliance when they break down our gates and besiege our home! No, brothers, sisters, we have been abandoned, and the lions prowl about our doorstep. And they are hungry.

Do you think our lack of reprisal has gone unnoticed? Absolutely not! The humans and their allies are enraged over what that upstart Hellscream has done to them, and they are out for blood! And here we sit, fat and listless, too lazy to even seek retribution! Cairne has not simply turned us away from our warrior roots. He has turned us into pushovers, mere sheep to serve the will of any who would cross our pride.

My brethren, we should be ashamed.

How long will it be before we see human soldiers marching across the plains of Mulgore, razing our ancient ceremonial lands? How long before dwarven tanks are crawling over our hills, knocking down trees and trampling our lush fields under their heavy treads?

Are we going to let this happen? Are we going to lay down our weapons and surrender without a fight? Will we sit and await our fateful demise like mere cattle, our horns dull and harmless?

NO!

We will not! We are TAUREN, proud and strong! We are the Earth Mother's chosen! It is time we remember it! I will never let us succumb to such a fate!

Baine may be too weak or scared to fight back, but WE are not! WE will not let the humans' crimes go unpunished! My Grimtotem battle the Northwatch murderers in Dustwallow Marsh, striking back for our fallen brothers and sisters! They murder our friends? We will capture theirs. They burn down our homes? We will return the favor!

We fight alone, without the aid or consent of Baine, without the supposed allegiance of the Horde. We are outnumbered and without allies, but still, we fight. We fight for the dead...for Taurajo. We fight for justice! We fight for YOU.

We will never forget. Never. The humans will pay in blood for their heinous deeds. I swear this to you on the ancestors.

Remember this, citizens of Thunder Bluff. Remember who fought to avenge your friends while your leader sat back in his tent and did nothing. Remember it well.

However, while the humans are weak and fall easily before our might, they are innumerable. Like roaches, or quillboar. We know that it is only a matter of time before their king sends them reinforcements, reinforcements which will quickly overwhelm our meager numbers.

I knew we would need help if we hoped to hold out against Theramore's forces. Would Garrosh Hellscream send us warriors to bolster our ranks? What about the kind and benevolent Baine Bloodhoof? Or would they both ignore our pleas, despite our righteous cause, and leave us to die in the mud?

Yes, you guessed it, friends. Even though our enemies were the killers who destroyed Taurajo, neither Garrosh nor Baine would lift a finger to help us. What noble leaders sit upon our thrones, basking in our dutiful reverence.

I say to them: Fine. Hide in your shelters, oh brave and courageous leaders, while we do the dirty work. I shall lead us out of this lethargic fugue that is Cairne Bloodhoof's legacy! I will never let the Alliance take our lands! I will never let there be another Taurajo. Not while I still draw breath.

I see some of you exchanging skeptical looks. I am not angered by your doubt, for my exile has taught me patience. Yes, I have lost my connections to the elements. Baine shattered my totems, and the elements have not yet forgiven the affront. But I do not hold a grudge against the young Bloodhoof, for my punishment was just, his sentence fair.

But I do not stand before you a powerless crone, my friends. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We have actively opposed the terrible Twilight Cult that threatens our entire world, and fought them back from our borders! Ancestors only know what disasters they would have unleashed upon Azeroth had we not stopped them in their tracks and scattered them to the winds.

And our efforts paid off, my friends. Deep within their shattered camp was hidden an artifact of immense power, charged and brimming with untold elemental power! I unlocked only the tiniest fraction of its true potential, but I can already tell that with its might at our disposal, no human vermin will be able to stand in our way!

Furthermore, I have recovered ancient tauren relics, irreplaceable objects of great spiritual significance to our people! Long were these precious links to our past thought lost, but thanks to my clan's industrious efforts, we have unearthed and recovered them, and brought them home. I have the utmost faith that our elders and shamans will be able to unlock their mysteries.

WE fight the humans for the sake of our fallen kin. WE have found and retrieved these priceless heirlooms and returned them to where they belong. WE refuse to be Garrosh Hellscream's disrespected pawns any longer!

I ask you, my brothers and sisters gathered before me...what has Baine done lately?

You have heard my words! You have seen what we have become! Look around you. Look at your neighbors. Do they hold a sword? Or a rake? If you should be killed, will they honor your passing and lay you to rest? Or will they be too busy selling grain or weaving some new shirts?

What will Baine Bloodhoof do if you are wronged? If you are murdered by vicious Alliance killers? You already know the answer! It lies still smoldering beyond the Great Gate, being picked clean by human bandits! He will do nothing!

Who will defend our cliffs, Thunder Bluff? Who will avenge Taurajo? Who hears the cries of the dead? Who is not afraid to make the wretched humans of Theramore pay for their crimes? Who is not afraid to destroy the vile Twilight Cultists to gain the power necessary to save our people from the yoke of Cairne's weakness and docility?

Citizens of Thunder Bluff, think what our world has become, and what we will face in the future. Think hard, and with your heart and soul.

In whom should you trust, in these dark days?

Not the Horde!

Not Garrosh Hellscream!

Not Baine Bloodhoof!

Grimtotem!

GRIMTOTEM!

GRIMTOTEM!

Show/Hide Letter Notes
I'm not sure where this idea came from, other than it started as a random comment in passing during some conversation, probably on Twitter. It occurred to me that, you know, with what's happened with Camp Taurajo, and how Baine has basically done nothing, Magatha could totally make a decent effort to usurp his leadership, and legally this time.

I'm sure a lot of tauren are NOT happy about Camp T, and yet Baine has really done nothing to avenge the dead, or more significantly, lay them to rest! And neither have the Horde. (Not yet, anyway. We know what's going to happen with Theramore down the road.) On the other hand, Magatha and the Grimtotem are busy assaulting Theramore soldiers in Dustwallow. An interesting contrast.

I thought it would make a very convincing argument/apology by Magatha, if she stated that the reason she wanted to be in command was not for personal power, but because she felt the tauren were growing soft, and to avoid EXACTLY what happened with Camp T. With the anger and bitterness likely running through Thunder Bluff, and the lack of action of any kind by Baine or Garrosh in retaking Camp T, I think her words would have a pretty dramatic emotional effect.

Poor Baine. Things just aren't shaping up very well for him lately. But really, what HAS he done since becoming Warchief? Magatha might not be able to sell people based on her own merits, but as we all know, aggressively attacking political rivals hurting their image is a very effective strategy. And Magatha might be an evil, selfish witch, but she is clever, canny and charismatic. I don't know that young Baine really stands a chance in such a fight.

She also has some pretty potent ammunition in pointing out how the Horde (and Garrosh) has treated the tauren so far. Not only have there been no Horde reinforcements to come take back Camp Taurajo or scatter the Alliance troops outside the Great Wall, but it's even worse when you consider that this hostility is really a direct result of Garrosh's aggression in other regions, such as Ashenvale. And there's always tauren in the Horde troops you see training or fighting, but how many Kor'kron are hanging out in Thunder Bluff to help Baine?

Writing the letter was interesting. I tried to use colorful, evocative language, much like Magatha would use if she were standing on a dais speaking to the gathered residents of Thunder Bluff, including little things like telling the audience to not blame Baine (subtly patronizing him and making him look weak and pitiable) or repeated shouts of outrage, much like an orator would do to try to stir up a crowd into a passionate frenzy.

I think Magatha presents herself pretty well here, and to an angry tauren grieving over lost friends killed at Taurajo, I think they would find her words compelling and painfully true. Hell, even if they didn't really forgive the Grimtotems for their attempted coup, maybe it wouldn't matter - maybe they'd be willing to let bygones be bygones, if it meant being able to avenge their fallen kin. After all, justice - or revenge - is a very powerful motivator.

Light Give Me Strength...Please?

2011-11-14T10:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Light,

Hey there. How are you?

I'm doing okay. Pretty good, actually, considering that I'm not locked in some rotten orc cage for the first time in, what has it been, five years? You know what they say, time flies when you're being used as a urinal.

Anyway, the boys are all back together again, and Bravo Company's ready to kick some orc butt just like back in the good old days. We're just waiting for the new recruit to finish up some mission for Johnny, then we're going to assault the orc stronghold, Stonewatch Keep, and take out their leaders. Don't know too much about the new guy, but he freed us all from our captivity and got Johnny back on his feet, so he's okay by me.

Been catching up with the guys, seems we all had it pretty rough since the war. The orcs split us up long ago, and the only living things we've seen for these last few years have been those blasted greyskins tromping around OUR mountains like they own the place. Messner and I were were locked up and treated like crap, but poor Krakauer was going to be sacrificed in some crazy Gurubashi sacrificial ritual, and Danforth was strung up like a slab of beef and tortured! Thank goodness for the new guy, he showed up just in time and helped us save them.

Tell the truth, I kinda thought the others had all died years ago. Only thing keeping me going was the fact that I was still alive. I mean, heck, if *I* was still breathing, no way the rest of Bravo would have bitten the dust yet. It'd take a real monster to bring down Krakauer or Danforth, those guys are beasts. And Messner? He don't mess around.

Of course, we all thought Johnny was dead. After all, no way he'd have let us hang for all those years if he knew we needed him. But the poor guy, he thought WE were dead! Turns out he got captured too, but because he was our leader, the stupid crap-swilling orcs paraded him around like some kind of trophy, showing him off to their mongrel buddies. And well, you know Johnny. The second the orcs dropped their guard, he broke their necks, stole the key, and hightailed it outta there. Not dead, can't quit. That's how we do it in Bravo.

But man, Lakeshire sure had it in for the poor guy. I don't get it. They asked him to fight, so that's what he did. The man gave his all for the Alliance, defended our home from those damned orcs, and what did he get in return? Treated like garbage, that's what. Poor guy lost his wife, his best friends, and was used as a toilet by the orcs for five long years, and those civvies had the nerve to spit on him and call him a baby killer? Disgusting.

I tell you, if there weren't orcs to kill, I think Bravo Company would just leave this little berg to fend for themselves. Poor Johnny couldn't get a job or live in peace, the town shunned him everywhere he went. Had to support himself by brawling in some dingy underground fight club beneath the inn like some nameless mutt. You don't treat a man like Johnny like that. You just don't.

I hear Johnny didn't want to have anything to do with the new orc threat, not after how the town had treated him. I can't say I blame him. Luckily for us, the Colonel and the rookie knew just how to get his blood boiling again, by saving our hides and retrieving Johnny's belongings from the damn orcs. I've never seen Johnny cry, but he sure looked pretty touched to get his weapons back, to say nothing of his poor dead wife's amulet.

When I saw the glassy, dull look in his eyes transform into the old fiery captain we knew and loved, I knew he was back. He was back, and the orcs were gonna pay, big time.

Bravo Company picked up right where we left off - slaughtering orcs. It's been great. We've infiltrated their camps, freed a bunch of prisoners, blew up a whole valley of the brutes...damn orcs never knew what hit them. We even got a tank airlifted in from Troteman, and pulverized hundreds of orcs on the way up to Stonewatch. Ah, good times, good times.

However, I can't help but notice a few things as we've worked. Light, I don't mean to complain, but...how come I'm so freaking weak?

Don't get me wrong, I like being able to heal the boys and keep us hale and hearty. And I'll be completely ready if the orcs happen to have any undead on their side. But watching the rest of Bravo cut a swath through the orcs, even the rookie, and coming to the sad realization that they're so much stronger than me...it's a little depressing.

I know they're joking, Light, but it really hurts inside when the boys poke fun. I mean, Johnny said he could fight five of me at once. And all he's got is a knife! What's up with that? (I think he's right, too.) And Danforth said I was "dainty" and that because I'm a Paladin, the rookie should watch what he said around me or else I might start to cry. :( I don't cry! Much...

I try to joke about it and laugh it off, but it makes me really sad inside. Sometimes I wish they weren't so mean, even if I know they're not being serious.

And Light, even without their teasing, how come the other guys are so much more powerful? I just don't get it. I pray to you for my strength, and I can take on a decent orc, but Messner over there just shoots like, a dozen fireballs from his hands and obliterates a whole camp of orcs all at once! It makes me so jealous. I wish I could kill orcs as fast as him. Light, why can't I shoot fireballs? What do you have against fireballs?? Just a few fireballs here or there, that's all I ask!

And Krakauer and Danforth, they don't even have any magic to help them, but they really kick butt on their own with just their weapons and anger. And they're so fast, and they can leap around and charge at our enemies, while I'm so slow and plodding.

Maybe I should drop this paladin thing and try being a warrior. I don't know.

I think the worst part is that I never really know how I'm going to feel, day to day. Some days I feel great, and strong, and full of the Light's strength! And then some days I wake up and it feels like all of my powers have been weakened, like I just don't have the 'OOMPH' I used to have. It's so frustrating and unpredictable, Light!

Every time I start to feel good about myself and really capable, before I know it I feel weak and pathetic, like my power was soaring in the sky and then got slammed to the ground. Light, I know as a Paladin I'm the most important member of the team, but it really makes it hard to live up to that status when my strength keeps fluctuating all over the place. Whenever I remind the boys of this fact, they just kind of chuckle and pat me on the shoulder. I think they're humoring me.

I tried telling the others about how I feel, but they just roll their eyes and laugh at me. They say I should stop complaining, or that I should abandon being a Paladin and take up a real career. Johnny doesn't tease me, but I know I'm the weakest one of the squad. He sends me off on scouting missions, or tells me to go sneak into orc camps for recon. Now sure, someone's got to do it - but me? A Paladin? Sneaking around covered in leaves and poop, and chloroforming dimwitted orc sentries? Shouldn't we have a rogue for this or something? It just doesn't seem right.

Sometimes I feel like there's no point to even being a Paladin anymore. I miss the days when I could fire off my heals like Johnny's artillery cannon, or call upon the Light to protect all of Lakeshire when we were being attacked by orcs or gnolls. But now I feel so limited! Light, why did you give me those amazing powers to help people and then take them away? I feel like you're not really taking me seriously.

Sigh. I'm so utterly useless now. I wouldn't be surprised if Johnny just went and replaced me. :(

Light, can't you just leave well enough alone? I don't mind if I'm not the most powerful fighter, I just get a little down always being the weakest member of the team. A little help Light, that's all I ask. I'm fine with being in the middle!

(PS: I really would love to be able to shoot fireballs, though.)

Devotedly yours,

Show/Hide Letter Notes
The members of Brave Company were all pretty funny, but without a doubt Jorgensen stole the show. This poor Paladin complained endlessly about the state of Paladins, how their power was erratic and how he kept feeling weaker. A great poke at the infamous Paladin QQ that occurs constantly on the forums, such as regarding the cooldown that Word of Glory received, or the changes to raidwall that made it limited by range.

I think my favorite Jorgensen complaint was "One time, Keeshan told me that he could take on five of me at once. Why am I so weak?" It's just so random and downtrodden!

Dark Side of the Moon

2011-11-11T05:44:00.000-08:00

"Pack your things, Jadaar. We're going to the Faire."

The Faire. I'd heard of it, of course. Who hadn't? A ragtag band of rubes and charlatans, swindling innocent folk out of their hard-earned coin with freakshow displays and sideshow games. Fixed, no doubt. Never staying in once place for too long, always moving on before anyone could get too attached...or return to complain.

I didn't respond right away, just looked at the kid and raised an eyebrow, and my mug. The kid wasn't too bad. A little naive, a little arrogant, but he had a good heart under that sheen and polish. The mug, on the other hand, was nearly empty. A real shame.

"The Faire?" I asked, watching my partner over the tankard's frosty rim. "Why the sudden interest, Asric?"

The kid grinned, a cocky, know-it-all smirk. Back in the day, I would have wanted to rub it out with my fist. Now it was just routine.

"There's something funny going on with the Faire, Jadaar," he said, his grin lighting up the dim taproom like a full moon in a charcoal sky. "Something really big! I can feel it."

He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. I sighed but obliged, shuffling my chair in closer. The kid could be so dramatic. Part of his charm, I suppose.

"The Faire's been doing quite well lately," he said, looking over his shoulder for any would-be eavesdroppers. "So well, in fact, that they've gotten their very own island! Bought and owned by old Silas Darkmoon himself, and they run the place top to bottom, coast to coast."

I sipped my ale patiently, waiting for him to dish up the rest of the goods. So far the kid hadn't said anything worth the fuss, but I knew he liked to string things along. He'd get to the point eventually. Sometimes it just took a while.

"Well, one of their workers contacted me looking for help. Seems that someone went missing without a trace a few days back! And get this - it's not the first time this has happened! Since the island opened for business, six people have vanished into thin air, and they have no idea why." He leaned back and spread his hands with a flourish, flush with anticipation.

My missing eye throbbed slightly. Not a good sign. My own personal little warning system. I rubbed the socket gently, adjusting the patch until the ache subsided.

Sensing my reluctance, the kid's cheshire grin faltered. "Look, I know it's a little weird, and maybe a little dangerous. But these are good people. Okay, maybe not good, and kinda strange, but they're okay. We should help them out, don't you think? Plus, they'll pay well if we can find their missing folk."

I leaned back, thinking hard. Outside, the city screamed its silence, violet spires hanging voiceless in the sky. Not much left here now that the war was over. Just a couple has-beens drinking the days away, reliving old memories.

Life sure was quiet. The kind of quiet that could eat a man alive. Could be that it was time for a change of scenery.

I tossed a few coins down on the table and stood, bones creaking like a rusty hinge. Didn't really have a choice. Someone had to keep the kid outta trouble.

* * * * *
"Greetings, friends! Welcome to the greatest show on Azeroth!" crowed the elderly gnome, an explosion of color and enthusiasm. "Silas Darkmoon, at your service!" Barely knee-high, but his personality touched the clouds. A spark in his eyes, too, and not just because he was happy to see us. Some real cunning behind those crinkled lids. Best be watchful, he didn't seem like the type of fella to miss much that went on around him.

"Greetings, Master Darkmoon," said the kid, all smiles and civility. "My name is Asric, and this dour fellow is Jadaar. We are investigators, here at the behest of one of your own, to look into your recent string of mysterious disappearances."

Darkmoon winced, though the smile never left his face. "Ah...I see," he said. "Well, head on in then. I do hope you are able to find our missing people. We're like family here at the Faire, and it's been just dreadful not knowing what's become of them."

The old man's hired muscle shot me a glare as we walk through the gate. Big fellow, ogre, arms like anvils. Looked strong as they come. I could tell he was sniffing for a fight. They always are. I stared back, looked him right in his bloodshot, beady eyes. No reason to show my tail this early in the race.

We walked on, taking in the sights. The moon was full overhead, but the Faire was ablaze with activity. Oil lamps and torches were distributed every few feet, ensuring that visitors could partake in the Faire's attractions in full illumination.

I had been surprised when I had learned that the new Faire was only open at night, but suddenly the pieces all fell together. The Faire was well-lit, while outside the light's perimeter lurked a deep, impenetrable gloom, unknown and dangerous. Not only did this add to the Faire's spooky allure, but it also made the fairegrounds seem like some sort of safe haven, a beacon of warmth and security in the darkness. Pretty smart bit of marketing.

Stands of ghastly souvenirs fought for attention with vendors hawking cheap baubles and gaudy trinkets. While the kid paid a few silver for some kind of hideous sugar-coated fruit on a stick, I watched the crowd flow around us, dreams of prizes and bargains twinkling in their eyes. A river of broken dreams that just didn't realize it yet. Part of me wanted to laugh at their optimism. Part of me was a little jealous.

"Did you see those lights?" asked the kid abruptly. I shook my head. I'd been watching the people, not the scenery. He was staring out past the tents, squinting. "Hmm, I thought I saw something glowing out there, but it's gone now. Must have just been something from the Faire, or a bit of moonlight."

We stopped at a dull green tent that looked exactly like all the others. The kid went right inside, so I leaned back against the fence to wait. This was his show; I was fine handing over the reins and enjoying the ride.

As I waited, I glanced over my shoulder at the woods beyond the well-lit fairegrounds, looking for any mysterious lights. Nothing. Just darkness and shadows, black as the Deceiver's heart. Nice place for a stroll...if you're a ghoul.

I turned back when I heard my name. Kid stepped out of the tent with a human girl, young slip of a thing, frail and thin. Pretty enough by human standards, but it was obvious she'd been living hard. There was a weariness about her that only comes after life's kicked you around a little.

She introduced herself as Kerri Hicks, the 'Strongest Woman Alive', and reached out a friendly, tiny hand. Turns out appearances can be deceiving, because the little lady had a grip of iron. I tried not to let my surprise show, but I think she knew, judging from her cheeky grin. She and the kid exchanged look and laughed, like peas in a pod. Brats.

The little charade broke the ice, though, just as planned. Sure enough, within a few minutes the kid's got her talking. He's what you might call a people person. I'm not.

They talked, I listened; the usual setup. The kid asked her all sorts of questions about her missing friends, sympathetic and grieving, the picture of compassion. He was good. Real good. She spilled the beans, everything she knew, what she saw, what she didn't see. Forgot I was even there, which is what we wanted.

While the kid was busy being her new best friend, I paid close attention to her words, studied her reactions and mannerisms. It's funny what people reveal when they don't realize they're being watched. A flutter of the hands, a tightening of the mouth, even a little sideways glance. Minor things, easy to overlook. But oh, the stories they can tell.

No hidden tale here, though. Far as I could tell, the girl was shooting us straight. She trusted us, or rather, she trusted the kid. You could tell by the way she looked at him. If she was playing false, she played it well, better than anyone I'd ever met. And I've met some real jokers.

Turns out that ever since the Faire had set up shop on the island, people had been going missing. At first, old gnome Darkmoon figured they had just gotten tired of the life and headed home, but after a few more people vanished, things got real serious in a hurry.

According to Hicks, some of the missing folk were lifers, with no homes to return to and no family outside the Faire. Made no sense for them to up and leave, especially now that the Faire had stopped its nomadic lifestyle and was settled in for keeps.

The latest person to go missing was a female tauren her age named Arlon, she told us, voice all aquiver. They'd grown up in the Faire together, and she swore that Arlon loved the Faire with all her heart, and would never abandon them or run away.

I could tell they were close. I guess with an upbringing like that, they'd feel like sisters. Poor thing was distraught with worry. I wanted to pat her on the shoulder and tell her everything was going to be alright, but I didn't. I didn't want to get her hopes up. Been doing this long enough to know that the second you promise something, the opposite comes true. Then you're a liar and a failure. I'd rather be just one, given the choice.

It was the same story with the other missing workers. Six people in total, all of whom were perfectly happy and content, gone without a trace.

We spent the rest of the night combing the grounds for clues or witnesses, but came up empty. No signs of any struggles, no evidence of any animal attacks, nothing. It was like they just walked away into thin air.

* * * * *
I woke up in the next evening to a pale mist floating through the tent, hanging over my head like a shroud. I knew something was wrong. Call it intuition, call it a sixth sense, but I just knew.

Looked over at the kid's cot. Empty. Could be he was already up poking around. Or it could be something else.

I went around the grounds, asking if anyone had seen him. Vague replies and confused shrugs were all I got in return. My eye started to ache, and it felt like someone was playing a two-tone recital down my spine. Fear and dread were knocking, but I wasn't going to open that door just yet. Time enough for that later.

I had all the questions in the world. Just didn't have any answers.

Then I remembered the lights.

Damn.

* * * * *
I swung once, twice, a one-way ticket to oblivion, sealed and delivered. Hit nothing but air, though. She drifted closer, a twinkling, luminescent apparition on the night breeze, her once-beautiful features contorted into an obscene, nightmare grimace. She shrieked an impossible cross between screeching metal and a broken heart, a lonely dirge of sorrow and despair, and it bowled me over like an angry clefthoof.

Desperately, I scrambled away from her grasping claws, holding my mace before me in a futile warding gesture. Ghosts. I hate ghosts.

I backed up against the ancient, withered tree, heard the cages hanging overheard rattle and clatter their skeletal contents in greeting. Six missing people, six cages, six sets of bones picked clean and locked inside. Now, I'm no engineer but that seemed like pretty simple math to me. Poor saps saw the the ghost's glow deep in the woods and took it for torch or lantern light. They went to investigate and and never came back. I didn't look forward to breaking the bad news to Miss Hicks, assuming we lived long enough to tell her, that is.

Darkness crept its hungry claws toward me, barely held at bay by the sputtering lantern in my left hand. The kid lay on his side a few yards away, pale and weak, but alive. I could tell he was outta the fight though, by the glassy haze in his eyes and the slack in his limbs. The ghost had been vamping him something fierce when I arrived, pulling his life right outta him like a fisherman gutting his evening catch. Couple minutes later, would've been nothing left of the kid but a well-dressed corpse.

Course, that's not to say we were safe and clear. Still the little matter of a vengeful spirit out for blood, and us without a holy man. I shifted my grip and lunged forward, swinging the lantern. Maybe fire would work where cold steel had failed.

The flame fluttered wildly as it swung forth, then passed right through her without any effect. Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. Before I could step back, she surged forward and plunged a phantom hand deep into my chest.

Her touch hit me like a winter squall. Felt like I'd just walked across Northrend in my birthday suit. I staggered back, suddenly breathless and numb. My fingers twitched, cowardly soldiers deserting a lost battle, and my lantern and mace thumped to the ground.

Dead fingers, pale and cold, wrapped around my throat, and I gasped as the spectral ice froze my skin and filled my lungs. I clawed weakly at her hands, the only part of her that seemed remotely solid, but her grip was locked in good.

Her eyes, pits of endless darkness and fury, bore into mine as she leaned in close. I looked into those spiteful orbs and saw the Nether staring back.

"This is our ourrrrr land!" she keened, a sibilant hiss slithering through the air. "All trespassers will be punishhhhhed. You will not stop me. You cannot stop me..."

She leaned in close, putting her mouth near mine. I heard her inhale deeply, and felt my legs go weak, the strength draining out in a gushing, helpless flood. The kiss of death. Can't say I was a huge fan.

"Hold on now, sweetheart," I said through chattering teeth twisted into a grin that would've made the kid proud. "Everyone knows you don't go to the Darkmoon Faire...without bringing a little Light."

I grabbed her wrists, ignoring the razor chill that shot through my veins. Instead, I concentrated hard, thought back to what the old man taught me all those years ago, back when the universe was young. Never really was my thing, but I paid attention, locked it away inside myself for later. Always knew that bit of juice would come in handy. Just didn't know when.

She shrieked as my hands started to glow, and started thrashing and writing like an angry elekk, trying to break loose and escape back into the night where she could lick her wounds and find easier prey. But it was too late. She'd made her bed, and I was gonna make sure she used it.

I sunk my fingers in, stabbing through skin that wasn't quite there, digging deep. Felt pretty strange. A little like jelly, if jelly were made of hate and evil.

I watched the Light run down my arms, little golden embers that danced like fireflies, tingling and soothing where they touched my skin, chasing away the rime and frost.

It flowed through my fingers, right into her hollow, translucent bones. She screamed again, but the malice and rage had been replaced by pain and desperation. I never heard a sound so sweet.

Her body fought me, but her soul drank it in like a man dying of thirst. It lit her up like a lantern on Hallow's End, burning her up from the inside, blasting out of her mouth, her eyes, her skin. Smoke rose from where my fingers were plunged into her ghostly flesh, sizzling and hardening, then crumbling like a stale cheese.

The oily night retreated, chased away by the brilliant glow. Probably the only touch of hope this forsaken forest had ever known. Flickering shadows leaped around us, fierce and angry, but they kept their distance. They knew what was happening to their wretched sister, and they didn't want any of it.

Caught a glimpse of the kid out of the corner of my vision, his eyes wide with surprise, mouth gaping like a beached murloc. Couldn't really blame him for being shocked. I never told anyone about this little trick, not even him. We've all got secrets. We keep 'em for a reason. After all, you gotta have a trump card.

My hands were numb and my breath was gone, but I didn't care. Only way I was letting go now was if one of us was dead, and I didn't plan on that person being me. After all, the kid was counting on me. Wasn't my time yet.

With a final cry, she swelled and burst into hundreds of tiny motes of silver and azure light. They floated down slowly to the forest floor, gently illuminating the small clearing like a flood of fallen stars.

I sank to my knees, spent, and crawled over to the lantern. The kid was struggling feebly to rise, but it looked like he still didn't have any strength in him yet. I dragged myself and the lamp over next to him, and leaned back against the trunk, wheezing painful breaths and waiting for one of us to recover enough to get the hell outta there.

"Why not...heal...Light?" said the kid through twitching lips.

"C-C-Can't," I shivered. "All I h-h-had. T-t-tapped out." It was the truth, too. I felt the raw, jagged hole within me, empty and gaping. My soul probed at it like a loose tooth, searching for its familiar warmth, but it was gone. Spent. Nothing left but a sad memory of what used to be.

"You...you used your last bit...of the Light...to save me?" murmured the kid, quiet and solemn. He'd risen gingerly to his feet, swaying like a boozehound after a long night of business. He wavered over me, stretching, taking in the battered cages and the lost souls within. A shudder ran through him. Thinking about one's own mortality always takes the spring out of your step, and this one had been close. Way too close.

"Thank you, my friend. Sincerely. I owe you."

"Forget it. That's what partners d-do," I chuckled through clattering teeth. I paused for a second. "...but you DO owe me, and don't think I'll ever let you forget it."

The kid laughed and threw me an arm, and we began the slow trek back to the Faire, just a vague purple horizon barely visible through the treeline. Behind us, the macabre monument and its ghastly contents faded away, the smoldering remains of the killer dwindling into tiny pinpricks in the night's boundless tapestry.

As we limped out of the woods, I thought about what I had lost. First my eye, now the Light. Little pieces of myself, gone forever, never to return. Deep inside, I wondered how much I still had left, and what would happen when it was all gone.

But hey. The kid and I were both still breathing, so that's something.

Some days, that's all that matters.

Show/Hide Letter Notes

A few days ago I asked my brother who I should write about, and he suggested Jadaar. I was skeptical and said that he hadn't really done anything new in Cataclysm so far, to which he replied "He's a Draenei with an eyepatch, what's not to love?" :\

That being said, I thought about it and realized that there was some potential here. After all, Jadaar and Asric WERE showing up at the new Darkmoon Faire/Island in 4.3. Not being on the PTR, I had no idea what they were doing there (probably nothing of note) but it didm make me wonder *why* they might be there.

The answer was pretty straightforward - they were originally Shattrath authorities investigating the possibly-illegal swindles of Griftah, and what is the Darkmoon Faire but a bunch of games and sideshow acts that - if they're like most carnivals - nothing more than cheap tricks and swindles? It made a lot of sense for these two "cops" to be there checking things out, making sure things were on the up and up.

Or at least, this WAS my plan, until I discovered Mia's great blog post about the hidden ghosts of Darkmoon Island. Investigating a swindle is all well and good, but here was a REAL mystery for them to tackle!

Who is the murderous ghost? And is that actually part of the real Darkmoon Island? First of all, there ARE ghosts on the island (see the above link) but no, they're not some murderous creatures out for vengeance. I just made up the angry ghost part to fit the story. As for who it was? I'm leaning towards the island being part of the old Night Elf territory, before it broke away in the Sundering. So a Night Elf ghost.

As for the tone of the Letter...I honestly don't remember what made me want to make it all Noir-ish. I think maybe it was the relationship between the two where Asric is clearly the junior member of the pair, combined with how I've been listening to the incredible Bastion narration videos on Youtube, and could totally mentally hear Jadaar calling Asric "kid" in the narrator's voice.

In fact, my mental voice for this whole letter was the Bastion narrator. He's so, so awesome. Seriously, just listen to him:

I'd never tried writing anything in this style before, and as someone who's never really read Noir fiction or watched Noir movies, it was kinda weird to get into. I'm not sure how authentic it sounds. I also read Liala's Orc Detective series for a little inspiration.

It was a surprisingly difficult Letter to spit out. Partially because of the style, partially because I was sort of making up a mini storyline, too. Overall though, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.

Gray's Anatomy

2011-11-09T10:24:00.000-08:00

Autopsy Report
Undercity Division of Death and Reanimation
Record of Researcher: Calder Gray
Case Number: CG-524
Present at autopsy: Calder Gray, abomination "Three-Face", abomination "Frank", various slaves of no significance

Name of deceased: Cho'gall, chieftain of Twilight's Hammer clan
Age: Unknown
Sex: Male/Male
Race: Ogre, two-headed, mutated by Old God corruption
Height: 331" (27 feet, 7 inches)
Weight: Impossible to measure
Body identified by: Everyone and their mother
Cause of death: Burned, shot with arrows, bitten by wolves, clawed by ghouls, repeated blunt force trauma by heavy objects, cut, stabbed, poisoned, diseased, electrocuted, blasted by arcane energy, seared by the Light, mangled by what appears to be a large bear or other predatory mammal.
Resurrection attempted: No
Head(s), limbs, tails present: Yes
Noteworthy physical abnormalities: Yes, see notes

Recommended course of action:
Reanimation
Processed for Abomination material
Preserved for research purposes
Delivery (disease carrier, psychological attack, "moral obligation", etc.)
Disposal

Oh, it is so refreshing to be back home in the Undercity after my long exile! Though Warchief Hellscream forbade me from ever returning to Orgrimmar, on pain of death, he said nothing of our other cities. That one is so shortsighted, even for an Orc. Is a warrior with two working, functional hands not more valuable than a warrior with one? I still don't see why the transplanted hand's origin or race really matters. Results are results, after all.

Where was I? Oh yes. Despite being unceremoniously ejected from Orgrimmar, I refused to abandon my years of accumulated research and knowledge. Desolation Hold in the Barrens was woefully unequipped for my needs, with the exception of one overwhelming positive element - an unlimited supply of fresh, raw corpses. Orcs, Humans, enormous lizards, some kind of weird insect creatures - Desolation Hold had it all!

However, Desolation Hold already HAD a medical specialist when I arrived, a Troll, one of those element-wielding shaman types. Shamans, pfft. What reasonable person relies on temperamental entities for their craft, rather than nice, dependable science? Science rules.

And so, unfortunately, my arrival to Desolation Hold was not a welcome one. Fortunately, his severed limbs made an excellent contribution to my first experiment!

With the Barrens' plentiful, steady stream supply of test material, I was eventually able to refine and perfect my reconstructive process! My creation had limited sentience, was physically powerful, and was completely and utterly under my control. A resounding success, if I do say so myself!

Furthermore, unlike our traditional Abominations which require pieces meticulously prepared by our finest necromancers and Apothecaries, my little darling was crafted entirely from leftover, patchwork parts. Who needs dark magic and alchemical preservatives when you have willpower, some strong thread and a bonesaw? (Well, and an enormous, still-beating Kodo heart.)

And so fresh, too! The blood was still oozing from its seams when it walked off! I would have wept with joy, had I not removed my tear ducts years ago.

The practical application of my research is limitless...imagine collecting newly-fallen soldiers off a battlefield and, within minutes, transforming those worthless sacks of flesh into a newly functional Abomination juggernaut!

It's like I always say - Reuse, Recycle, Reanimate!

However, I could only remain in the Barrens for so long. Literally, I mean. The arid temperature and blazing heat was wreaking havoc on my poor, dessicated body. We Forsaken are not really designed for long periods in the sun, and my skin began to peel and flake, despite regular moisturizing with liver oil. Insects began nesting in my skull, which - while fascinating - did sometimes interfere with my work when they would crawl out and obscure my vision.

I relocated to the Twilight Highlands, where I found, to my delight, a) once again, an endless supply of fresh bodies (Ah, war. What AREN'T you good for?), and b) a convenient medium through which I could test my constructs in recreational combat! I struck a deal with a pleasant Goblin entrepreneur who had established some sort of makeshift gladiatorial arena - in exchange for the use of my creations in his bouts, I would be able to study their combat prowess in a controlled environment! Furthermore, I did not even require a portion of their cut - something that surely appealed to the little fellow - but rather, offered to "dispose" of any would-be champions who fell in the arena. Mutually beneficial!

I spent many weeks atop the arena, perfecting my unique science and developing new ways to supplement their abilities - for example, a spray of toxic bile, or a sudden increase in chemical volatility, resulting in a marvelous explosion of flesh and gore! In fact, I would have been quite content to spend the rest of my days there, basking in the screams of agony and the intoxicating bouquet of blood, until I received a missive marked with the Dark Lady's seal. It seemed that the hulking two-headed leader of the Twilight's Hammer, Cho'gall, had been slain! And the heroes who had accomplished this feat had returned home to celebrate their victory.

Without the body.

Which lay only a head's throw away from the arena, within Cho'gall's abandoned citadel.

Oh really!

What an opportunity! We would be remiss if we simply let such an extraordinary corpse go to waste. The Dark Lady had, of course, realized this, and considering my particular brand of expertise in these matters, ordered me to immediately return to the Undercity with the body, and begin a thorough examination.

I was, of course, only too happy to oblige.

With the assistance of a squadron of Forsaken arcanists and Abominations, we transported the specimen home. It was not an easy process, as the body was too heavy to lift, even for the Abominations. We had to make do with a haphazard pulley system using Abomination hooks, and dragged the corpse through an extra-large mage portal.

However, now that the hard work is done, my work can begin! I am tremendously excited at the brute lying on the floor in front of me. Like a raw gem, it waits, its inestimable value hidden away, until the master craftsmen begins to cut. And slice, and incise, and peel away...

I find myself reluctant to begin, actually. My previous research has borne fruit to marvelous creations, but this! This, is the opportunity of a lifetime. What a tremendous specimen! I have never had the pleasure of dissecting a creature such as this. Oh, I've cut open dozens of Ogres, of course, some of them two-headed, some with only one. Some of them had no heads...or ended up with three or more! But I digress.

This breathtaking beast is a work of fantasy! Just look at him. His body nearly takes up th entire laboratory, a grotesque monstrosity of mismatched, deformed parts that should never be found together. Lidless eyeballs, jutting talons, and is that an eagle's beak? He looks like someone took all the creatures on Azeroth, threw them in a sack and bashed it on the ground until they all mashed together.

He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

And solid, too! When I poke my finger into his skin, it dimples and resists, instead of popping like a ripe tomato like most corpses. It seem that the body has not yet succumbed to the ravages of decay and rot, despite the length of time that has passed since his demise! This is great news; I do so hate when my subjects start turning to mush before I can finish my work.

Alas, if only all skin and flesh were this durable and long-lasting! Perhaps an injection of a chemical compound would slow the decomposition, akin to preserving a trophy fish? Or maybe one of the Apothecaries could develop an acidic compound that would loosen a creature's skin, so that I might peel it off and preserve it for future examination, intact and whole?

Note to self: Investigate these ideas. The benefits could be amazing!

Until now, I hadn't truly realized what a hulking monster this fellow is. His arm must weigh a few hundred pounds alone! And my goodness, his skin is like leather! I mean, not leather like my own flesh, but leather as in extremely thick and tough. Perhaps this is a result of his exposure to the Old God? I suppose it might also be his ancient age, unheard of for one of his kind. I will have to ask Lady Sylvanas to capture a few Ogres so we can see if their hide naturally gains resilience with age. I figure 10 years of imprisonment will do the trick. If my hypothesis is correct, we should immediately implement Ogres into our Abomination creation process.

I'm so excited! I can tell I am going to really have to work with this one. I attempted a test cut with my scalpel, and the blade couldn't even penetrate! Oh, jubilation! It's been so long since I've had to fetch my special knives. Where are my gloves? I'd best open the drains and send the girl for some rags and a bucket. I imagine this laboratory will soon be quite a mess. I must say, I'm rather salivating with excitement, or I would be if my tongue were not a rotted, blackened husk.

(A few droplets of blood have lightly splattered the paper.)

Ah, there we go. Despite the many injuries inflicted upon before death, the body remains in remarkable condition, and its large surface area ensures that there will be no shortage of available flesh to examine. Subject's blood is thick and viscid, still liquid enough to gather and seal in flasks, but coagulated just enough to make collection a simple process. It is a rich, oily substance, and smells curiously sweet.

Note to self - replace saw.

Once I had drained the body of its blood - nearly a dozen large tanks, which I placed in storage for our alchemists to play with - I began to examine the body's other external oddities. The specimen appears to have calcified protrusions emerging through his skin in various spots. Though their location appears to be random or semi-random, the growths appear to have functioned in a protective capacity, much like a shell or carapace. The growths are incredibly hard, and my initial attempts to damage them have met with utter failure! My surgical blades, a standard dagger, and even an Abomination hook have left little more than slight scratches.

If this mysterious material could be replicated, or if we could deduce how to restart its organic growth, this could be a tremendous component to transplant or implement in future creations! I will name it...Calderite. Yes, yes, I quite like the sounds of that.

(On the side of the page are a series of disjointed notes about Calderite and its properties compared to standard human bones. Next to these shorthand notes is an alarmingly accurate cross-section drawing of a human body's skeleton and nervous system. Large portions of the body's skeleton have been circled furiously and repeatedly, and a series of dizzying mathematical calculations, weights and ratios are jotted down in the margin.)

(There are also more bloodstains.)

I am intrigued by the absurd number of eyes this creature possesses, all over its body and of infinite variety! There are some as big as my head, while others remain a mere hands-breadth in width. Were these organs functional, enhancing the Ogre's senses? Were they perhaps used as the delivery system of some eye-based magical attack, like a beholder? Or perhaps they were merely decorative, cosmetic additions, meant to intimidate the creature's cultist lackeys.

I headed to my quarters and retrieved my personal collection, so that I might compare the eyes already in my possession to those embedded in the body. Some of the eyes are similar to those of a large feline, with enormous slits, while this one here appears to be more akin to a reptilian creature such as a thunder lizard, or perhaps a devilsaur. There are also some that do not match any creature that I have seen or read about. Fascinating! If there are any eyes left over after I have completed my examination, I will be sure to preserve them for posterity.

Physically, they are firm yet malleable, much like a fresh heart, or perhaps a brain. With the assistance of a garden spade, I extracted one eyeball to determine its longevity once separated from its host. It remained pleasantly moist and squishy for over 10 minutes, and looked quite cute, jiggling in my palm. After it dried, I learned that it had no nutritional value worth noting.

It occurred to me that these objects might retain some of the specimen's supernatural vigor, and if so, perhaps they could be implanted? There was a spare Night Elf in the back room, so I removed her eye and carefully inserted one of the specimen's smaller orbs. She thrashed about quite energetically, and actually managed to bend my favorite set of forceps during the surgery. Unfortunate, but sacrifices must be made in the name of progress.

Results were immediate and surprising! Her screams actually grew in intensity as the eye settled into its new home. It then appeared to focus and dilate! I moved away; the elf's eyes followed me. She was saying something but her words were, of course, unintelligible without a tongue. You'd think she would have gotten used to this by now.

Query: does a Night Elf's immortality hinder its capability to process and retain new information?

I lifted my scalpel towards her face, and she cringed and flinched away. Most intriguing! But did she actually have vision in her new eyeball? Or was she merely tracking me and reacting with her remaining, mundane eye?

Well, only one way to find out.

In retrospect, this may have been a mistake. After her other eye had joined its twin in the jar, she gave a tremendous shudder and collapsed, hanging limply from her chains. I prodded her a few times, but it appeared that, tragically, the trauma had been too much for her. I regretfully recorded this incident down in my logbook as "potentially beneficial", fetched a slave to mop up the mess, and moved on.

After opening Cho'gall's chest cavity, I was amazed at the size of the creature's lungs. Even for a giant, they seemed disproportionately large. After some thought, I realized that perhaps this size irregularity is common in two-headed Ogres, since a single set of lungs must supply both heads with oxygen. I have heard that Cho'gall was quite fond of yelling, often from both heads at once, so this would support my theory.

Speaking of the creature's internal organs, the body contained only a single heart like others of its species, though obviously this particular specimen was gargantuan in comparison. After a great deal of effort, I managed to remove its connective flesh and had Frank place it aside, into one of the elementally-chilled storage lockers. I felt it wise to preserve the organ, since we might one day be able to use it to power a colossal Abomination, much like the flesh golems our forces encountered in Northrend.

Sadly, I was unable to complete the final portion of my examination - study of the body's twin brains - due to having no cutting implement capable of sawing through the steel-like skull. I suggest we contact the quartermasters in the Military Quarter and borrow a guillotine blade, or perhaps we could utilize a Goblin shredder.

Such a shame! I was so looking forward to holding those wonderful brains, so large and soft. When else will I get the chance to hug a brain nearly as big as I am? Brraaaaaaiiinnnnss...

In conclusion, I anticipate no significant problem with either using the body as the frame for an exceptionally large Abomination, or in dissecting it fully (once we have a sufficient cutting tool) and putting the parts aside for future installation. I suggest the latter, as body's unusual ~~bone~~ Calderite growths, eyes and hide remain objects worthy of future study, and possibly its blood as well. The potential benefit to our Abominations, and indeed, our entire reanimation process, could be staggering.

If the Dark Lady grants permission, I will begin further experiments immediately. Of course, I'll need some fresh test subjects. To the dungeons!

I love my job.

Show/Hide Letter Notes
Calder is one of those bizarre Forsaken who really, really lives up to the "Forsaken are horrible undead monsters" idea, which is actually fairly uncommon, at least on the Horde side of things. However, his joyful demeanor and exaggerated personality makes the effect seem more comical than gruesome, at least in my experience. And even though he's a twisted, insane Frankenstein wannabe, how can you not love his sincere glee at being able to create his "children", even if said children are horrible patchwork constructs made out of corpses?

I was quite pleased to see Calder again in Twilight Highlands, and his role in the Crucible of Carnage - while small - was very memorable, mostly because of his funny dialogue after you defeat his creation. Once again, he's pleasant and cheery, while also managing to seem terrifying and sinister. Gotta love it.

He also shows up again as one of the guest NPCs that fights with you on the Molten Front ledge, but I didn't really see a good way to work that in, as it seems so far removed from his role as mad scientist / corpse doctor.

As for the Undercity and its laboratories...it's actually kind of interesting. The various Abominations walking around the Undercity and used by the Forsaken, they actually ARE based off a bizarre mix of science and necromancy. There are various "operating rooms" where assorted Abomination bits are assembled and lying around, just waiting to be put together. There's certainly some kind of death magic involved to animate the pieces, but I found it interesting that it also apparently requires some physical construction as well.

And of course, Calder manages to create an Abomination by himself at Desolation Hold, despite not casting any sort of magic ritual or anything. He snips and pieces together the various body parts you've fetched for him, and then bam - Abom! He certainly could be some crazy powerful mage, but he doesn't ever really act like a mage so much as he does...well, a mad scientist. I found it interesting.

Oh, and in case you were curious about Cho'gall, I guesstimated his height from the following picture:

And if you were trying to figure out the party that killed Cho'gall, it was a Rogue, Unholy DK, Elemental Shaman, Arcane Mage, and Hunter, with Paladin and Druid tanks. ;)

A Special Batch of Stormwind Brie

2011-11-08T11:16:00.000-08:00

Dear King Varian,

You will be pleased to know that the special shipment of Stormwind Brie you ordered has successfully arrived in the Twilight Highlands, as per your instructions. I received word this morning via my cheese network that all seven crates of this sharp, subtle delight were received very gratefully by our Wildhammer allies, who were likely in quite dire need of such a powerful snack.

I was somewhat surprised when you called me to the Keep to discuss your rather unique order, as we do not normally deliver our cheeses to locations that far distant from Stormwind. Granted, we do occasionally send a small package of Trias Cheese to faraway allies who are in desperate need of our unique mix of reliable nourishment and piquant flavor that our products provide, but only at great cost and in the most dire of hunger pangs.

Furthermore, our cheeses are most effective when served alone as a standalone, independent dish, and it sounded like you intended to send your order to join a wide assortment of other foodstuffs. A lone informant here, a traveling dignitary there...that is more our style - single meals rather than enormous banquets. I worried that amongst such varied company, our product's unique qualities would be diminished and wasted, and I told you as much.

However, after you explained the details of to whom you were sending this remarkable gift, and the full extent of what our cheese would be used for once it arrived in the Highlands, I fully agreed that some of Trias' Cheese's trademark product would indeed be the perfect gesture of support.

Once you had given me the full details of your order, I had my assistants go and fetch certain additional ingredients for this particular assignment, as this differed somewhat from our normal routine. After they rounded up the necessary components, I spent a long few days making final preparations, to ensure that the cheese was adequately prepared for the journey, as well as for the redistribution that was sure to ensue upon arrival.

From what I hear, the Wildhammers enjoyed the cheese at a war council, then immediately flew it via gryphon to the Grim Batol canyon, where our soldiers are firmly entrenched against Cho'Gall's Twilight Cultists. Clearly the Wildhammers determined that this hard, strong delicacy would be of the most benefit directly on the front lines, bolstering our exhausted Alliance forces.

As you know, I have a great deal of personal experience with this particular cheese, having carefully monitored, developed and honed its growth myself over my long career as Stormwind's Master of Cheeses. Let me assure you, my King, that those dwarves have never seen a cheese like this before. I consider it my finest work, and I doubt I shall ever surpass it. It's one of a kind.

I understand that our shipment's salty, bold zest had an immediate revitalizing effect on our troops, and thus fortified, they immediately pushed on towards the gates of Grim Batol, seizing command of the valley. Doubtless your majesty will be pleased to learn of these events, and that the battle swung in your favor as a direct result of your clever cheese-based strategem. It is just as well, really. That cheese was perfectly aged and ready for the right occasion - better to get it out to those who could use it, rather than have it sit around the shop growing stale!

After their triumph over the Twilight Cultists in the foothills around Grim Batol, my contacts inform me that cheese was then passed on to an elite squadron of Alliance soldiers, who were heading into the heart of Twilight-controlled territory to invite Cho'Gall himself to a special feast.

If I know anything about cheese (and I do), I suspect that at first, they will present the grotesque ogre overlord with some fancy, tantalizing fare that will catch his eye, and our quiet, innocuous-looking cheese will go initially unnoticed.

Of course, this will all change drastically when the creamy masterpiece enters the picture, with its unexpected bite and delightful acidity. I almost feel sorry for Cho'Gall - his poor senses will never know what hit him! I'm sure he'll feel quite ambushed by the gastronomic assault.

This concludes my bill and record of delivery. Transportation costs and any other miscellaneous expenses have been tallied below, taking into account the throne's usual discount, sponsorship assistance, and standard gratuity.

It is always a pleasure doing business with you, my liege. If the kingdom is ever in need of another custom order of our specialty cheese, you know where to find us.

We look forward to your patronage in the future.

Yours,
Stormwind's Master of Cheese

Show/Hide Letter Notes
Even as a Horde player, I love awesome espionage flavor of Elling Trias' cheese shop and its shadowy connections with SI:7. Aas a rookie player, I found the cheese shop bizarrely out of place, until I later learned what it really was, at which point I thought it was fantastic. Who suspects a CHEESE SHOP of being a spy network front? It's so amusing, yet clever.

I found it very fun that Alliance players got to team up with the infamous Mathias Shaw in Twilight Highlands, so I was poking around with some Letter concepts when this idea struck me. I am highly entertained by how obviously transparent it is, and yet really, it's so in line with the whole cheese shop thing, isn't it? And as funny as the original concept was, I thought it would be even better if Elling really wasn't that good at disguising his "coded" messages to Varian. I contemplated making it SUPER obvious, like "the cheese wants a vacation after this" but I thought that would be pushing it a little too far.

I also didn't go too much into genuine cheese terms, as it felt really weird describing "the cheese" in terms of its milk/fat content, shape or smell.

The Power of Pure Water

2011-11-07T10:31:00.000-08:00

Duke Hydraxis,

Your master appreciates your patience. I know it cannot have been easy to hide yourself and the Waterlords away, lurking in the ocean depths, while our ancient enemy has resurfaced and ravages unopposed across Azeroth. Though you did not openly protest my orders, I could tell the command displeased and confused you. Doubtless you likely wondered if you and your lords had done something to offend your master, or if you were out of my favor.

Rest easy, my trusted lieutenant. All shall now be made clear.

You are aware of the Naga that have long inhabited my waters. As an elemental, I know you have little interest in the affairs of mortal creatures except where they concern your common master, but some history is necessary.

Thousands of years ago, these serpentine beings were not aquatic creatures at all, but landwalkers - Kal'dorei, or "Night Elves" as the mortal races now call them. Their leader, a sorceress of some power named Azshara, opened a great rift that shattered the fragile land and split their world asunder. The foolish creatures plunged into the seas, where they would have surely perished had Azshara not made a desperate bargain with our former masters...the Old Ones, who transformed the fallen mortals into the Naga that we know today.

When I first learned of the new species that had joined us in the seas, I was initially quite displeased. The tainted touch of the Old Ones? In MY realm? The Naga's new forms may have been physically capable of surviving in the infinite depths, but no creature may long dwell in the Tidehunter's domain without his express permission!

You may recall, Duke, my fury upon learning of the existence of these creatures. Even you, my faithful retainers, quailed and cowered, so outraged was I at their temerity. And yet, I did not fall upon them like a raging storm as so many of you expected. Instead, I let them slowly acclimate to their new realm, establish cities and societies, and come to grips with what they had become. Then, I appeared to them and offered them a choice: serve me, or perish.

Let this be a lesson, Hydraxis. Emotion is a powerful motivator - it can be used to dominate, to threaten, to inspire. But it can also blind you. Part of me wanted to annihilate the Naga for daring to invite themselves to my realm, and for carrying the corruption of the Old Ones within their bodies. But why dispose of such potentially valuable pawns without first determining their value, and how they might further my goals?

And so I permitted them to live, with the condition that, like all other creatures in my seas, they obey my command and serve my will. Even their queen, the "mighty Azshara", knew she could not oppose my power. She is, after all, merely a mortal, and I am the Tidehunter, the master of all water, the strongest of the Elemental Lords. I fear no one.

It was not a seamless transition. The Naga chafed at first, and some prideful upstarts even refused to serve me, threatening open rebellion. However, in time they all submitted to my domination. It was not a difficult process. A few palaces torn apart by unstoppable riptides does much to change one's worldly perspective, I find.

I know these machinations comes as a foreign revelation to you, Hydraxis, and I am not surprised. You are a creature of elemental manifestation; your actions are direct and straightforward. You are a blunt object, to be steered and aimed as I see fit. It is your purpose, and it is why you are a valued servant. I know you heart and mind, and I know you would never betray me, for to do so would mean betraying the very core of your being.

The Naga, on the other hand, are mortal beings, consumed by lust and avarice. They yearn for power and control, especially their queen. For a creature of flesh and blood, her insatiable ambition nearly matches my own. Even I would hesitate to turn my back on her, so grand and limitless are her aspirations.

However, one of the luxuries of possessing a servant so akin to myself is knowing exactly how they think. She is much like myself, only with thousands of years less experience and wisdom. I know exactly how her mind operates and what she plans, even before she does. As such, it is trivial to predict her actions and manipulate them to serve my needs.

I also learned something of amazing importance, back then, something I did not share with anyone, not even my most trusted servants. I did not dare, not because I worried about one of you betraying my trust, but because I did not trust anyone but myself with this critical information.

The rift that shattered the land in twain and cast Azshara's people down into the sea had also had another effect, one that had gone unnoticed in the vast chaos and upheaval. Unnoticed by all, that is, except your master.

Their rift had actually broken through the planar barrier! For the first time since the Old Ones fell, I was able to extend my power through this breach from the Elemental Plane of Water, and into the material realm!

Shocked, I quickly obfuscated this discovery, deciding to first carefully consider what it could mean to me. It was an avenue into the mortal world, yes, but it was also a direct route back into my own native plane, where I am at my strongest, but also, my most vulnerable. Should a sufficient force invade my sanctum and strike me down in my own realm, I would be forever destroyed. I know of no such force capable of accomplishing this, save the Old Ones, or if the other Elemental Lords were to somehow ally themselves against me - both all but impossible - but I decided the risk was too high, and hid the rift and its secrets away for future utilization, when the time was right.

When the Firelord was summoned unexpectedly to the mortal realm a short time ago, I wondered if I had missed my opportunity. I feared the Firelord, unopposed by myself or the other Elemental Lords, would quickly devastate and seize control of Azeroth. I knew I would be unable to muster my forces in time to properly combat him, and that Al'Akir and Therazane would be similarly unprepared.

However, something entirely unforeseen occurred. The squabbling, petty mortal races somehow managed to unite, and struck back at Ragnaros! I waited for my fiery rival to quash the pathetic resistance, but as time went on, I began to slowly grasp what these short-lived breathers were capable of. I had vastly underestimated their capabilities, it seems. Suddenly, I was quite glad I had resisted the temptation to surge through the planar rift and try to conquer the mortal world myself, all those years ago.

Partially out of curiosity, and partially to hamper the Firelord in whatever way possible, I sent you as my envoy to assist the mortals in their endeavors. As you lent the power of the Waterlords to their crusade, I also realized what a unique opportunity had presented itself. Not only would I be able to assess the mortals' power and abilities, and hurt our hated foe, but these short-minded, simple creatures likely now regarded us as their allies!

Hydraxis, you likely had no idea this was occurring, but as you bolstered their strength and prepared them to battle Ragnaros in his volcanic home, the mortal creatures began regarding you not as a partner in a mutually-beneficial agreement but rather, as a trusted friend.

It was then that I realized an important conclusion about mortals - they were capable of great feats and accomplishments, yes, but they were also utter fools. They knew nothing about you or your allegiance, but once they saw that you also opposed the Firelord, they were convinced you were an ally. The thought that you were only helping them to further your master's ambitions never even occurred to them.

It really is remarkable, this lack of foresight. As the mortals vanquished Ragnaros back to his fiery abode, I considered how I might turn these events to my advantage. The mortals, as odd as it seems, were no longer a non-factor to be dismissed. Properly motivated, they could be a powerful hindrance...or benefit.

Like a tsunami breaking itself over Therazane's cliffs, inspiration struck me. The best way for me to avoid battling the mortals down the line was not to hide from them, but rather, simply ensure that their attention was focused elsewhere. And what better way to do that than present myself as a friend in need, in dire plight against a common foe? Their sympathetic and heroic hearts would never be able to resist this hook, and I knew they could come to my aide, weakening themselves in the process while also conveniently dealing with whatever foes were hassling me.

And who would these foes be? Why, Azshara's Naga, of course. Though they ostensibly remained my loyal servants, I knew better than to think I could ever truly trust them. No, their queen has spent centuries plotting and devising plans to escape my reign and seize my power. Foolish, pathetic creature. Does she not realize that the very water she breathes whispers her secrets in my ears? That the sand she slithers over is a written history record for my eyes, that the barnacles and kelp plastered to her promenades tell me everything they witness?

No, I have always been aware of Azshara's growing duplicity. Like myself, she has lain dormant, coiled like a deepsea lurker, waiting to strike when I bared my throat.

When Deathwing the Destroyer resurfaced and brought the Firelord back to Azeroth, and allied with that coward Al'Akir, I knew I had my opportunity. The mortals would never forgive Deathwing for ruining their precious world, and they would strike back against him, and by extension, my Elemental Lord brothers.

There would never be a more opportune moment. I surreptitiously let Azshara's minions learn of the long-hidden rift, knowing they would immediately take news of this "discovery" to their beloved queen. Sure enough, upon learning that she might be able to invade my realm and depose me, the treacherous serpent gathered her forces and immediately began her assault. As a result, news of Azshara's return reached mortal ears, and it wasn't long before her old enemies had hurled themselves into the fight.

It really was simplicity to steer the currents of war to my favor. I knew the mortals, especially Azshara's old Kal'dorei foes, would never forgive her for breaking their world thousands of years ago. They would ally themselves with whoever the Naga queen was fighting, and if it happened to be their "old friend" Neptulon and Duke Hydraxis, they would be even more inclined to come to our aid.

And so, Duke, this is why I had you withdraw from the fighting and sequester yourself and the Waterlords away. Once the mortal armies arrived, there was no need to exhaust and weaken my own forces battling the Naga. The helpful Alliance and Horde soldiers would handle this for us, while we sat back, conserving our strength and waiting.

For you see, I have a special mission for you, Hydraxis. The Firelord and Al'Akir are foolish to have thrown their lot in with Deathwing, for they are destined to lose. Ragnaros should know this better than anyone, but my brothers have always been rash and impetuous. They stride forward boldly, infuriating the mortals and hardening their resolve. They seal their own dooms.

It is only a matter of time before the mortals march through the gates joining my brothers' homes to the material plane, furious and seeking vengeance. Though Ragnaros and Al'Akir are weaklings compared to myself, they are still Elemental Lords, and countless mortals will fall to their might. But they are innumerable and persistent. Eventually, they will overwhelm my brothers, and destroy them. They will be triumphant, but at a staggering cost in terms of manpower and resources.

At the same time, I expect Azshara's forces to push my mortal pawns to their limits. The Naga queen is no weakling, and she has had thousands of years to plan her attack. I could, of course, gather my power and crush her pathetic rebellion, but I would pointlessly lose valuable servants in doing so, and simply defeating her is not my true goal anyway. I need the mortal armies who have come to our aid to push the Naga to the breaking point, while suffering enormous losses of their own, so that neither side can rally any real defense when I make my move.

Can you see it now, Hydraxis? Ragnaros, dead, the Firelands vacant and exposed. Al'Akir scattered to the winds, Skywall vulnerable for the first time in history. Azshara's forces, depleted and weakened by the long struggle against my fearless mortal assistants. And of course, the mortals themselves, battered and weary, having lost thousands of their finest warriors and exhausted their decidedly finite resources.

Could I ask for a more tantalizing opportunity?

That is where you come in, Hydraxis. Once my brothers fall, and once the Naga and mortals battling in my realm have destroyed themselves for us, you and the other Waterlords will rise out of hiding and strike! We shall seize the Elemental Planes of Fire and Air, and fall upon the fractured remains of the forces battling upon my doorstep - both Naga and mortal - and slaughter them. Once I control the spheres of Water, Fire and Air, I will be unstoppable.

The only presence unaccounted for is my erstwhile sister, Therazane. It is true that she could interfere in my plan, perhaps by seeking dominion over one of our brothers' realms for herself. I would be foolish to ignore her considerable strength.

Worry not, my servant, for I have already arranged for Therazane to be quite preoccupied with calamitous events in her own earthen domain. It seems that when Deathwing emerged back into the world from Deepholm, he carelessly shattered Therazane's precious World Pillar, causing my sister great distress.

Complicating this matter is the fact that the doomsday Twilight Hammer have invaded her realm, seeking the fragments of the Pillar for their own ambitions. I'm sure Therazane is quite furious at these insects leeching into her home, plundering her riches and interfering with her attempts at re-building the Pillar. With all her attention focused on local concerns, I would be surprised if she was fully aware of what Ragnaros and Al'Akir are up to, and even if she was, she will be far too preoccupied and distracted to attempt to conquer one of their vacant thrones when her own court is in such anarchy.

Which of course, is what I intended when I informed the Twilight Hammer about the World Pillar in the first place.

You may have wondered why I did not send Lord Ahune into hiding with the rest of you. Well, I still needed the Frostlord for a crucial task - to serve as a liaison with the Twilight Hammer. Between Ahune and my loyal pawn Skar'this, I was confident that word of the World Pillar's great power - and potential for catastrophe - would leak back to the cult's leaders, and it would prove impossible for them to resist.

Sure enough, their persistence and zealotry have taxed even Therazane's boundless patience. Her temper roused, my sister is now fully committed to squashing the insolent cultists, never suspecting they are but a distraction to keep her from noticing my sudden, suspicious "weakness."

This is perhaps the most frustrating element in this grand scheme of mine - feigning weakness to convince the mortals that they need to assist me in battling the Naga. For one as powerful as myself, it is a daunting, humiliating act, yet it is entirely necessary to convince the mortals that Azshara is a legitimate threat that they have to deal with.

I am fortunate that their noble hearts are bigger than their brains, for surely a more intelligent species would have grown suspicious that I, an Elemental Lord, would be laid low by mere Naga sorcerers or a simple kraken. And to think that any Lord, myself or one of my siblings, would require assistance in our own realm? What folly! On the contrary, it is all I can do to keep from accidentally drowning the ignorant landwalkers as they stumble into my Throne, shivering and bedraggled, thoroughly out of their element.

It is a galling experience, having to endure their stumbling, miserable efforts. Sometimes their ineptitude and bickering makes me wonder how such creatures were able to ever defeat the Firelord, though perhaps my brother is simply weaker than I ever imagined. Even with my power running bolstering their strength, the wretches were not even capable of slaying Azshara's pet kraken Ozumat, who dared lay its tentacles upon my divine being. When this charade is over, I will enjoy tearing the beast limb from limb and scattering it to the far corners of the seas.

Regardless, I must force myself to keep up the act, to ensure that the mortals fully commit themselves to "our" cause. Meanwhile, Hydraxis, remain hidden and spread the word among my servants to await my command. After we conquer the empty Thrones, our tides will turn next against the remaining landwalkers before they can gather themselves to oppose me.

Our attack will be sudden and devastating. How will their mages battle us when their ice and frost magics will not obey them, when their "loyal" water elementals turn on them? How will their shamans heal the wounded when their healing waters boil and sear the flesh they are meant to soothe?

Their ships will sink, demolished by towering tidal waves, and their airships will be hurled into the ocean by my waterspouts. Their precious undersea tunnel will shatter, and we shall surge forth into the heart of their cities, flooding their streets and drowning all in our path.

Even my smallest, most harmless minions have successfully infiltrated the mortals, hidden under the guise of harmless companions. The careless mortals coddle and fawn over these elementals, unaware that when nobody is watching, they are under my orders to siphon moisture out of their surroundings. Soon the fleshlings will find their wells running dry, their wooden structures suddenly dried out and brittle.

Remain patient, Hydraxis. The path to victory lies not in the violence of the crashing wave, but the slow, insidious erosion of the gentle stream.

In time, water overcomes all.

Show/Hide Letter Notes This letter is basically based entirely off my tinfoil-hat musings about Neptulon that I wrote in a blog post back May, "What's really going on with Neptulon?"

I've always felt there were many suspicious elements to our supposed allegiance with the Tidehunter, in Vashj'ir, especially how he has been decidedly NOT been a good guy in the past, and how weak he apparently is, being unable to fend off Lady Naz'jar (one of Azshara's lieutenants) and Ozumat, the Naga's kraken. In my eyes, there's no way an Elemental Lord is truly that weak, especially in his home (Throne of the Tides). It has to be a ruse of some kind.

Then there is of course the sudden disappearance of Duke Hydraxis and the Hydraxian Waterlords, even though their old enemy Ragnaros is back. Why would they be missing and not helping us once again fight the Firelord? Simple - because Neptulon told them not to fight, but rather, to hide. And why would they hide? To conserve their strength so they can pop out later on, when everyone is weak, and win. It's pretty basic strategy.

Finally, I thought including Withers would be a funny touch. Withers is a vanity pet that, when brought near a body of water, absorbs the water, growing in size. This is unremarkable in itself, except it reminded me very strongly of another creature doing this same exact thing - the Summer Scorchling, during the Midsummer Fire Festival. When players bring the Scorchling some incense, it starts to swell and grow in power, and its friendly dialogue takes on some very sinister overtones:

Summer Scorchling says: Now! Finally! Our plans can take effect!
Summer Scorchling says: KNEEL, LITTLE MORTAL! KNEEL BEFORE THE MIGHT OF THE HERALD OF RAGNAROS!
Summer Scorchling says: YOU WILL ALL PERISH IN FLAMES!

Of course, it then shrinks down and says it was "merely jesting." A likely story! Anyway, it was pretty similar to what Withers does, so I thought it would be funny (and entirely possible) for Neptulon to have a little elemental herald just like the Firelord.

Goodbye, My Son

2011-11-04T04:27:00.000-07:00

Orthus, my son,

If you are reading this letter, then our fears were accurate, and your father and I now rest with the ancestors. We love you so very much, and we are so proud of the gentle soul you have become. We wanted you to know this and know that we will always be with you.

We are writing you this letter in case our meeting with General Grebo goes poorly. Your father thinks that Grebo will listen to reason, but he has always been the optimistic one in the family.

As you know, Grebo is a maniac. He is obsessed with his supposed theory that the Alliance are hiding some sort of massive weapon inside Thal'darah Grove, the druid training grounds. I know, Orthus, I know the idea is ludicrous. I can already imagine you shaking your head in protest. When Grebo first told us of this so-called bomb, you immediately said it was untrue. And we believed you, baby. We still do. We trust you.

Our tribe has lived next to the ancient grove for generations, and those druids are like our own kin. Your father studied there in his youth, and you have spent countless hours as a guest there, learning their ways. And despite your youth, you have already shown great maturity by not allowing racial differences to divide your loyalties, instead befriending many of the young Night Elves who live within the grove. We have always shared a warm relationship with the residents of Thal'darah, and we are proud that you carry on this tradition.

As for this weapon of Grebo's...I know it is ridiculous, as does your father. But this infuriating Orc refuses to listen. I don't know if his dogged insistence is a result of bloodlust, stupidity or stubbornness, or maybe a combination of all three. Even worse, it sounds like he has the full support of his warmongering commander, Overlord Krom'gar, who is rumored to be constructing a terrible explosive device designed to lay waste to the Alliance in one sudden attack.

The thought of such a weapon makes your poor father nauseous, and I am decidedly less than thrilled by the idea. Such a detonation would have a disastrous effect on our home, which has already been ravaged by these silly wargames. And how many lives would be snuffed out in an instant, thrown aside in the name of conquest and glory? I think the Earth Mother would weep for our world if this calamity were ever to occur.

Even now as I look out over the pass, I see not the pristine trees and wilderness that has always marked our land, but instead, smoking war machines, blackened pits of smoldering oil, and senseless carnage as far as the eye can see. Little remains of the majestic forest but charred skeletons, and the sky chokes under an oppressive mix of soot and ash.

Though you are too young to take up arms, we have seen the pain in your eyes as you witnessed what this pointless war has done to your home. You know we did not have a choice, that we could not refuse the Horde when they came knocking on our doorstep. You know this, so you do not protest or complain. But we know you. We can see your gentle heart breaking at the sight of the anarchy surrounding us.

We are sorry, Orthus. We know we have failed you. After all, what purpose does this fight serve if the land itself dies in the process? Why do we fight if nothing remains for our children?

Perhaps we should have resisted, refused to accommodate Krom'gar's aggressive demands. He likely would have had us executed for treason, but maybe without our support, they would have had to withdraw, leaving the land intact.

Perhaps it is not too late to do the right thing.

Your father and I have discussed this in great length. When Grebo arrives, he is expecting a full assault force to be waiting for him. He no doubt intends to attack Thal'dorah and burn it to the ground in search of his mythical weapon.

While witnessing his failure would be priceless, the cost is too high. We cannot simply stand by and let him slaughter those poor druids. They are but students, young and scared. They are not warriors. They are no threat to us or the Horde.

What kind of mother would I be if I let this creature murder those frightened children? I would never be able to live with myself, Orthus.

We are going to deny Grebo his warriors, and insist once and for all that he is mistaken about the Alliance weapon. But we do not know how he will respond. Knowing Grebo, he will not take this rebellion lightly. We would not be surprised if he ordered us killed on the spot for our "treachery," but we are prepared. This desecration has gone on long enough - we must put our hooves down and do the right thing. And if this is the cost to ensure that innocent lives are saved and that you still have a home to return to, we are ready to pay this price.

I hope you understand.

You may have been wondering why we asked you to go to Thal'dorah and search for Grebo's bomb. The truth is, we do not believe for a second that the bomb exists, but we feared for your safety. A creature like Grebo would not hesitate to hurt or kill you simply to strike back at us. The only way we could guarantee that you would not suffer for our actions was to make sure you were safely away, with people you could trust.

Please Orthus, help your friends in the grove as much as you can, and then leave this place before it is too late. Do not worry about us, about burying us or building a cairn or pyre, just go before Grebo catches you! Head to Sun Rock Retreat, where friends still remain. You will be safe there.

Be strong, baby. Be brave. Remain true to your heart and do not let anger or hatred darken your spirit. Grow up well and become a good person. Our hearts are breaking, that we will not be there for you, but we know you will make us proud.

Goodbye, my son. My dear, precious Orthus.
We love you.

Show/Hide Letter Notes

This is probably the most tragic questline I've experienced in Cataclysm. Sure, there are quests and zones out there where you see dead bodies of familiar NPCs that you remember from the good old days, but you actually experience the tragedy in this story as it takes place, and the raw, grieving emotion from the Cliffwalkers is just brutal. Not only does poor Orthus get murdered by General Grebo, but after the distraught parents avenge their son, Krom'gar then shows up to punish the Cliffwalkers for "Treason" because they killed his guy. He then BURNS DOWN THEIR VILLAGE, and KILLS MASHA. :'(

THEN, Krom'gar forces High Chieftain Cliffwalker to watch as he unleashes the huge bomb he'd been working on. It drifts down to the druid grove and obliterates it, killing EVERYONE and leaving only a smoking, ruined crater behind. It's one of the most shocking and sickening scenes I've ever witnessed in the game, honestly.

Garrosh does arrive and "dismiss" Krom'gar for all the horrible acts of slaughter committed in Stonetalon, but it's too late for Orthus, for Masha, for all those druids. Poor High Chieftain Cliffwalker does convince Garrosh to spare your life (Garrosh thinks you were helping Krom'gar) but the poor old Tauren...what does he have left? He's lost everything, and that's how the zone ends. In pain and death.

I felt a letter written from Orthus' poor parents, about how they were prepared to sacrifice themselves to the crazed Grebo to save their son and the druids, would be extra sad and heartbreaking considering what ends up happening to, well, everyone. And it's very believable, because what parents wouldn't do that for their child?

Poor Orthus. Poor Masha.

Rekindling the Flame

2011-11-03T11:27:00.000-07:00

(Screenshot courtesy of scrnTAG.com)

Dear Cairne, my High Chieftain,

The Horde has become a much different place since your passing. Sadly, your noble sacrifice has not taught the young son of Grom humility or respect for his elders. His brash and impulsive decisions continue to alarm the elder advisors, yet his ruthless campaigns continue to meet with success, so their hands and tongues are tied.

But I am not writing this letter to speak of Hellscream. No High Chieftain, I wished to thank you for saving my life, and giving me the strength and courage to recognize my flaws, and overcome them. I was lost in shame, but your eternal faith guided me home. Thank you, old friend.

It is Gamon, Cairne Bloodhoof. Yes, that Gamon.

I have no illusions or excuses over what I had become. I know I let you down...let our people down. I was a disgrace, a laughing stock. But you never lost hope in me, never gave up. Truly, I did not deserve your loyalty. The world is a darker place without your loving hand guiding us.

As you know, so many years ago I was one of the warriors who stood at your side as we signed the pivotal alliance with young Thrall and his Horde. But even before that fateful day, I took great pride in watching you blossom into our noble leader, smiled with paternal pride as you grew in wisdom and strength. I was proud to fight back the wicked centaur by your side, to stand at your back when we rescued your young son Baine from their clutches.

And I wept with joy when the back-breaking construction of Thunder Bluff was finished, and you took those first, dizzying steps across the rope walkways to test their strength. The rest of us were terrified at the notion - walk out into the air with nothing but a few hempen ropes and boards keeping us aloft, hundreds of feet above the plains below? But you just smiled your comforting smile and stepped out, no hesitation of apprehension on your face.

I remember the rest of us shouting at you to stop, to let one of us take the risk...but you just chuckled and - I will never forget this - said that you had faith that the walkway would be secure, because...you trusted us. And though it swayed under your weight, though at one point a breeze shook the bridge perilously, you did not slow until you were safely across. That is just who you were.

Ah, Cairne. Those were good times.

But sadly, those were also my final days as a Taurajo brave, and the beginning of my downfall. After the labor was finished, when we had time to sit and enjoy our new city, and truly relax for the first time in years...it was then that the injuries and hardship I had endured over countless battles started catching up to me. No centaur axe could touch my heart, no harpy claw could wound my spirit...but age and weariness? That sinister spear flew straight and true, and I could not avoid its thrust.

You tried your best to make me feel useful, to convince me that I was still a valuable member of the tribe - that I wasn't too old and battered to still be of use. You tried everything - dignitary missions to outlying villages and outposts, management of mundane but crucial domestic matters, even training young warriors in the way of mace and spear. I loved you for the gesture, and I know you had only the best intentions, but Cairne, we are warriors. I am no politician, no simple farmer content to count grains of wheat and fret about the midsummer harvest. I tried to perform these duties, because you had asked me to, but I could not. I am sorry, my Chieftain.

How long was it before you first found me shirking my responsibilities, horn-deep in my cups? And how many times after that did you turn a blind eye, until finally, you were forced to remove me from my position? Secretly, I think I wanted this. I wanted to fail, to stop the sad charade of my once-satisfying existence, but I was too weak to tell you directly. I didn't want to let you down...and so I took the coward's route out, and forced your hand.

I am so ashamed.

Even then, you were not angry with me. I wish that you had been. It would have made the moment hurt less. Instead, I sensed only...disappointment. I felt your hands gently tremble in regret as you removed the ceremonial harness marking my status, and put it aside. Normally, this was a grand tradition for our people, and the next to wear your symbol would have been proudly heralded and celebrated. But this was different. This was not a moment of triumph, but of painful, resigned sorrow.

"Gamon, old friend," you began, then fell silent for long moments. I did not see the look on your face, for I had dropped my head to study the floor. I could not bear to look at you. My hand clutched and twitched for a flask, a mug of ale, anything so that I could drink myself into oblivion and forget this moment forever.

I heard whispers, the malignant opinion of Magatha Grimtotem, as she directed her barely-contained disgust and pity toward me. Once, her serpent's words would have provoked me into an unstoppable battle rage, the kind our shamans tell stories of to our youth. And perhaps that is the reaction the crone desired. But her words washed over me and did not alight any spark within me. I was no longer Gamon the Strong, Gamon the Proud, Gamon, An'she's Hand. I was only Gamon...the drunk. The failure. The disgrace.

In the end, you gave me one final chance I did not deserve. "Gamon, our people are isolated from the rest of the Horde," you said. "We need a representative in Orgrimmar, someone who can speak for our people, who can be our eyes and ears amongst the Orcs, Trolls and Undead. I want you to be that person."

Magatha hissed, clearly against the idea, but you silenced her with a look, and continued. "I know you have fallen on hard times, Gamon, and it pains me to see you suffering. It is my hope that you will take this responsibility, this vital task, and wield it as you once so mightily wielded your spear at my side. Do not let this lethargy defeat you. Do not let melancholy and depression topple the strongest brave I have ever known. I know you have it within yourself, Gamon. You just have to believe it too."

My heart broke as I solemnly accepted the assignment, knowing that I was doomed to let you down again. I wanted to refuse you, to tell you to stop believing in me, to just let me be. But how could I? I would not throw your compassion in your face like some upstart calf; you deserved better. For you, Cairne, I would try.

The ride to Orgrimmar was long and hot, as the Barrens always is. I lingered and loitered, spending extra time at Camp Taurajo, then the Crossroads, even making a trip out to the goblin seaport Ratchet. All to delay arriving in Orgrimmar, where I feared my inevitable failure. On my stops, the ale flowed heavily, the rum even more so. I lost myself in an endless herd of tankards and drowned my fears in an alcoholic stupor.

But I could not postpone the voyage forever.

I arrived in Orgrimmar, a stranger among friends, and met with Thrall. He remembered me, that was clear, but he was clearly shocked to see the sorry state into which I had fallen. My hulking frame, once so powerful and bold, sagged with neglect and flab. My hunter's eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, and I reeked of whiskey, sweat and other less pleasant odors. The Warchief was kind and welcoming, but I knew he was dismayed at what I had become.

Was I destined to live my life disappointing those who I most respected? I pondered this question that evening as I unpacked my belongings.

I didn't have an answer.

From there, the days became a haze. I tried to proudly represent our people, Cairne. I truly did. But I had no energy, no ambition. Being forced to sit in a stuffy hall and listen to the droning complaints of merchants and farmers was like pulling hooves. Listless and sluggish, it was all I could do to attend Thrall's meetings sober, and when he asked my opinion on something, asked what the Tauren thought or what our people might suggest...I had no answers to give him.

Eventually, he stopped asking.

Eventually, I stopped going to the council meetings.

Day after day, I sat morosely at the the Broken Tusk, nursing my ale, wondering if I should head back home to Thunder Bluff so you could give my position to someone who was capable of doing it. But I couldn't bring myself to leave, to admit that I had failed and had let you down again.

Tomorrow, I told myself each night as the stars rose into Orgrimmar's boundless ceiling. Tomorrow I will stop drinking and start getting into shape. I will meet with Thrall and tell him the concerns of our people, what we could offer if given a more permanent presence in Orgrimmar. Tomorrow is a new day and I will seize it!

But tomorrow came and went. And evening found me in the tavern, bleary-eyed and drunk, Morag patiently refilling my tankard. Just like the night before. And the night before that.

Cairne, I am ashamed to admit it, but I became a joke, a pack animal to be harassed. Word spread throughout Orgrimmar of my apathy, and young Orcs and Trolls would amuse themselves by entering the inn and slapping my head, tossing carved wooden hoops onto my horns, or even challenging me to a fight. Me! Gamon the Proud, challenged to fist fights by youths barely into their fullgrown days.

But the worst part is, Chieftain...I let them. I let them humiliate me, batter me until they grew bored and left. I knew that despite my sorry state, I could have pummeled the youths into the dirt and taught them a valuable lesson...but why bother? What was the point, really.

I felt hollow and empty inside, and the abuse, as cruel as it was...it seemed like penance. Justice, for the pathetic wretch I had become.

Sometimes, I wondered if the world would be a better place if I simply walked out to the shore, laid down in the surf and let it carry me away. I doubt anyone in Orgrimmar would even notice, except perhaps Morag, wondering what had happened to his best customer. But in the end, I was too cowardly to ever truly give the idea serious consideration.

All I was good for was filling Morag's coffers and taking up a seat at the bar...and then, as it turns out, I couldn't even do that right. One regular who I often shared drinks with, a Darkspear named Tazan, asked if I could safeguard a key for him, as he was traveling soon and did not want to risk taking it with him on the road. Tazan was a scoundrel, but we had shared many drinks and I think we could be considered friends, so I shrugged and agreed. It was the least I could do, since I wasn't going anywhere.

But somehow - I have no idea how this might have possibly happened - I misplaced the key. I retraced my steps meticulously, asked everyone in the bar, searched my room with the utmost care, frantically combed the bushes and cacti outside...and nothing. It was gone. I nearly wept with loathing. The simplest task imaginable - watch something for a friend - and I failed at even that.

I dread the day Tazan returns home and I have to tell him the bad news. Yet another person whose trust I have betrayed.

One day, I heard shouting and yelling coming from outside the bar. I stumbled out to the doorway and beheld a bizarre sight, Cairne - an elf, dressed all in blackened, skull-laced plate armor, trotting a vile undead stallion right into Orgrimmar! Even through my drunken, dulled haze, I could immediately sense the powerful sense of wrongness that emanated from the visitor. I reeled against the doorway in shock, nearly tumbling over in shock and inebriation. A Scourge Death Knight! Here, in Orgrimmar!

To my horror, the Orc guards did not immediately leap to the attack, but instead jeered and threw refuse at the Scourge monster. I cursed as I realized what was happening. The guards were young, brash and inexperienced. They were in their home city, indomitable and invincible. They did not fear a lone agent of the Scourge.

They had no idea what evil stood before them, encased in mortal flesh. Unlike us, Cairne, these young soldiers had never heard the horrors these creatures were capable of. They had not spent long nights around a campfire, listening to older Orc veterans of the wars tell the stories about Teron Gorefiend and his cadre of monstrous Death Knights, spreading disease, misery and decay wherever they went. I remember Varok, brave, fearless Varok, whispering in dread as he recalled the unthinkable blasphemies Gorefiend's troops carried out upon their Human foes...living or dead.

I looked around, frantically, but the scene was the same everywhere I looked. Mockery and jibes thrown instead of spears and arrows. A rotten piece of fruit flattened itself against the Death Knight's arm, and I saw a flicker of cold, icy annoyance in his face. Someone had to do something. I had to do something.

I grabbed a chair and ran out into the street, pushing my way past the gathering crowd of onlookers. I took a deep breath and leaped in front of the Scourge abomination, brandishing the chair.

"SCOURGE! Stand back! Gamon will save us all!" I cried, hoping the gathered crowd would realize what a dire threat stood before them. "Arm yourselves, quickly! Before he attacks! I will hold him off!"

I held up the chair and waited to die, hoping I had bought them enough time.

But...no one moved. They just laughed.

The Death Knight glanced down at me for a moment, then stoically walked his steed past me towards Grommash Hold. I lunged, swinging the chair, but my feet were like lead, weighed down with alcohol and months of inactivity. Instead of smashing the chair across the elf's back, I instead tumbled mouth-first into the dirt.

I coughed and struggled to my feet, trying to lift the chair defensively, only to see the Death Knight slowly disappearing into the distance. The mob swarmed after him, taunting and catcalling, leaving me behind...forgotten and ignored.

The Death Knight had not felt threatened by my actions, nor had he bothered killing me, or even acknowledging me. I was like a pesky fly, brushed off and disregarded without a moment's notice.

I was only a few yards away from the Broken Tusk, but it felt like the longest walk of my life. I left my silly dreams of a heroic, worthy death on the road where I had fallen. They could join my pride, my honor, and my self-respect in the dirt where I had abandoned them. I had nothing left.

The days that followed after that a long blur. I vaguely remember a flood of undead refugees arriving in the city, fleeing their home after some calamity, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

One day one of the Kor'kron rounded us up to answer our questions about what was going on. I don't remember much, drunk as I was, but I think I heard that Lady Sylvanas had been betrayed by her demon lackey, and the Undercity had been seized. As I stood there, bored, it occurred to me with some irony that this impromptu information session was much like the council meetings I had attended with Thrall. As it turned out, I still did not have anything useful to contribute.

Slowly, things changed in Orgrimmar. Thrall stepped down as Warchief, and Grommash's son took his place. The gates were fortified, new buildings were constructed, and whispers of war began spreading throughout the city.

Of course, you know all this. You saw it all when you stormed though the gates that summer morning. You saw how Orgimmar had changed, what it had become.

And you also saw the same of me.

Oh Cairne, I would have done anything to spare you the grief that must have filled your heart when you beheld my pathetic state. But you did not curl your lip in disgust like so many others have, nor did you look away in shame or pity. You saluted me with dignity, as one Brave would another, and then strode off into the city. So great was my shock at seeing you that by the time I stumbled to the door, you were lost in the bustling streets. I stared around groggily for your mighty frame, but to no avail.

However, I had only settled back into my tankards when you appeared in the doorway, like a phantom! You had a grim look on your face, and your face was flushed with anger - a frightful expression I had not seen in years. I quailed inside, awaiting the harsh reprimand you were about to unleash upon me.

Instead, you did nothing of the sort, simply took a deep, calming breath, and drew up a chair. You sat, you looked at me, and you talked.

And for the first time in years...I listened.

My bloodshot, blurry eyes widened as you told me why you were there. A mak'gora, with Warchief Hellscream? My memory traveled back to those early days when we wandered the dusty plains alongside the Orcs, learning their traditions and rituals. For long moments, the word escaped me, but I finally remembered Eitrigg telling us about it. Mak'gora...an honor duel!

I began to protest - you were an Elder, and should not have to defend your rank against one so young and brash as Hellscream, despite his accomplishments! How dare this pup challenge one as honored and revered as you! But you chuckled sadly, and continued.

My knuckles whitened as you grimly told me about the horrible attacks Hamuul and the other druids had suffered, how he had been the only survivor of the assault, waking alone and wounded in a mass grave. And how the attackers had been Orcs...

My heart ached for old Hamuul, who I had always considered a close friend. Suddenly, everything made sense. Now I understood why you would challenge Hellscream to a mak'gora, something your peaceful heart would normally never seek. It was the only option left to you. You were doing it not for your own glory or bravado, but for the good of our people - for the sake of the Horde.

You sipped your ale slowly, a weary look stretching across your face. I saw the weight of age upon your shoulders, Cairne, and for the first time, you looked tired, tired of the endless responsibilities of leadership.

You caught my gaze and gently patted me on the shoulder. Me! You were about to fight one of the most savage orc warriors in their history, many score years your junior, in his prime, and you were comforting me!

"Do not worry," you said warmly. "I am not some decrepit relic throwing my life away in a futile, symbolic gesture. Hellscream is young and strong, yes, but he is also reckless and careless. Think back to our battles, Gamon. We are powerful, but we are also wise. It is not always the rushing boulder that wins the day, but sometimes the subtle flood or the flickering wind."

You drained your mug and stared idly out the door, watching Orgrimmar stream past. "But Cairne," I said quietly. "He is like his father, wild and unchecked. What if he should land a lucky blow? What if you are underestimating him? Is this really worth your life?"

You just smiled calmly as you stood and shouldered your pack. "Gamon, old friend, I am touched by your concerns, but this is not just about Hamuul or the druids. It is for the Horde. For all of us. I would not do this if I didn't believe it to be absolutely necessary. And if I should fall defending my beliefs, I will die content knowing that others will carry on our fight, that I met my end in a manner fitting a Bloodhoof Brave."

Much to Morag's surprise, I dragged myself to the arena to watch the duel. There were but a few of our people in Orgrimmar, and I could not let you face your fate alone.

You fought well, old bull. But the blow that shattered your runespear seemed to sap your strength, or perhaps exhaustion chose that moment to catch up to you. I turned away as Hellscream readied the final blow, his axe shimmering in the dusty air, slick with your life's blood. I did not want to remember that moment.

But Cairne, I did not return to the tavern. I went and found your attendants, who were distraught and paralyzed with grief. I told them what they needed to do, that Baine had to be notified immediately, that all of Thunder Bluff must know what had happened there today.

While they were preparing your body for travel, I went out to the arena floor and carefully gathered the pieces of your spear. It had served you well for all these years, it should accompany you into the afterlife.

As I crawled slowly over the cool sand, searching, I thought about what you had said. That even though your bones were tired and your soul was ready to rest, you still fought on for your friends and companions. It shocked me to realize that I had forgotten these values, so caught up in my own misery had I become.

But no more. How could I continue to wallow in self-pity after witnessing your courage? You were old and had more than earned your rest, yet you never stopped fighting for our people. You never gave up on us...on me.

I will mourn you, Cairne, but in the way you would have wanted. I will honor your death by living.

I may have let you down in the past, but I will not betray your final act of faith. Your limitless love and compassion finally broke through my shell of loathing, and I feel revitalized, full of life for the first time in years. It feels like the first touch of spring sun upon my face after a long, dreary winter.

I have sworn off drinking (much to Morag's disappointment, I am sure) and now train every day with the Kor'kron. Their young blood runs hot, and my muscles scream every night as we stagger back through the city's gates. But I have instructed their captain not to coddle me, to treat me like any other raw recruit. And he has done just that. Countless menial tasks, merciless reprimands if I make a mistake, Bloodfist has reveled in his role as vicious taskmaster.

But the relentless, grueling exercise has paid off. Slowly but surely, the old warrior within my heart has begun to fight its way back to the surface. My mind is sharp, my body fit and strong. No longer am I the town disgrace to be bullied and ridiculed.

I am a Brave of Thunder Bluff. I am the Strong. The Proud. I am An'she's Hand.

I am a Bloodhoof.

Ish-ne-alo por-ah, my High Chieftain...my friend. May your spirit walk with the Earthmother.

Show/Hide Letter Notes

Of all the changes that came in Cataclysm (technically the Shattering), Gamon's magical transformation from infamous punching bag to devastating raid-level badass has been one of my favorites. It was always fun to watch people casually murder Gamon as they walked by, and I am guilty of this myself. Every now and then I'd see how far I could kite him on my Hunter just to stretch my kiting muscles.

Also, I have always been surprisingly moved by Gamon's hostility and, seriously, bravery when you enter Orgrimmar on a new Death Knight. The guards really do throw fruit, the civilians shout insults, but only Gamon is brave (or stupid) enough to actually rush out and attack you. What really does it for me, is that he doesn't attack out of anger or vengeance - he does it because he honestly thinks he's trying to save everyone. His exact quote is "SCOURGE!!! Stand back! Gamon will save us all!" For a little level level 12 or 14 guy or whatever he was, that's some guts.

I also loved how during the Battle for Undercity, Orgrimmar is in chaos, the Forsaken refugees are everywhere and everything is madness, but there is Gamon, steady and reliable. It just wouldn't be Org without him.

Specialized Services

2011-11-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

Most honored and esteemed Nexus-Prince Haramad,

Humble greetings and salutations, oh revered one! Your loyal servants bring you wonderful news from the terrestrial realm known as Azeroth.

As you know, the fleshlings native to this planet are privy to untold mineral, magical and spiritual riches, but remain foolishly unaware of the treasures they hold in their grubby paws. For years, our agents have attempted to establish trading posts or contractual agreements with the local populace, but always have our offers been rejected.

What is truly maddening is that our endeavors have been declined not because of unsatisfactory terms or from personal desires to retain their resources for themselves, but because the primitive fools lack the technological and scientific wherewithal to understand just what we have been offering them!

This planet's races are little more than primates, living their lives with sticks and rocks, and yet they swarm across this world's surface, exploring its every nook and cranny with parasitic persistence. If we only had access to such an easily-manipulated work force on our other mercantile trade-worlds! Ah well, we can but dream.

Of course, being creatures of material physiques, they are flawed. They still require nutritional sustenance, bodily rest, and are susceptible to biological ailments. But perhaps worse than these physical limitations are their uneducated mental capacities - their primitive intellects simply cannot fathom what remarkable technologies and gifts we are attempting to share with them.

For a race as advanced as our own, it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to imagine their needs and desires. For example, my liege, we might offer one of the subterranean, earthen races of this planet - a "dwarf" - a pristine matter destabilizer equipped with an augury-enhanced sensory neural harness, to assist in their mining operations, and what does the little creature do? Hand it back and ask for a "pickaxe" - a crude alloy blade attached to an uninsulated handle made of harvested organic material! They actually have fleshlings whose sole purpose in life is to craft such "tools", often by hand! Ludicrous!

And negative, your sensory receptacles were not mistaken, revered one. Azeroth has untold mineral deposits, raw and untarnished by the Void, simply waiting to be extracted. And yet, you will be horrified to learn that this planet's mortal simpletons waste these invaluable resources on mundane tools and weaponry, or even illogical, maddening decorative features such as enormous physical representations of their leaders! They call these displays "statues", and they serve no purpose other than to satisfy their leaders' absurd notions of vanity and ego - truly, I would not have thought such folly was even possible had I not witnessed these monstrosities myself.

If one of your court were to throw away precious commodities in such a fashion, they would surely be stripped of their wrappings and banished to the Void, yet this extravagant practice is celebrated on this planet! Our aghast agents asked fleshling officials why their craftsmen did not simply use a basic holographic display nodule instead of wasting hundreds of priceless mineral units, and they received only blank stares in return.

This is the level of ignorance we have to deal with on an everyday basis, my Prince. It sometimes feels like we would make better progress conversing with an amphibian sunning itself on a warm rock than with these so-called sentient species.

However, as I said, revered one, our major struggles in establishing any sort of economically-beneficial relationship with the native races have been disparities between what we can provide and what their simple minds desire. I am exceedingly jubilant to report that I believe we have overcome this obstacle.

Instead of trying to sell these creatures useful products that sensible beings would find appealing, it occurred to us that perhaps we would attain more success by analyzing their bizarre perspectives and adjusting our proposed services to appropriately coincide. Reverse social engineering, if you will.

The first thing we determined is that these fleshling races largely possess two personality traits that are easily exploitable. Firstly, they are very sentimental, and commonly develop emotional attachments to inanimate objects. Often these items are worthless or expended baubles, and being asked to discard such keepsakes can cause these creatures genuine emotional distress.

I am not joking, though if you find my words hard to believe I would not blame you, my Prince! I have seen a hardened warrior, talented for a lesser being, battle ferocious shadow creatures from the Twisted Nether without blinking an eye, and yet the idea of getting rid of his old training sword nearly reduced him to tears.

While this is rather amusing, I noticed with some interest that these incidents of emotional turmoil occur quite frequently, as the fleshlings - obsessed with material possessions as they are - continue to acquire more and more belongings, and quickly run out of space to store their "precious" treasures.

I have no explanation for this ridiculous mental impediment, but why these creatures feel this way is irrelevant. All that matters to us is if we can somehow turn these unexpected flaws into financial gain. And the answer is, of course, a resounding yes!

I have tasked Jazra and Razhid, two of our nethermancers talented in the arcane art of conjuration, to create extra-dimensional vaults of limitless capacity in a pocket dimension. For a nominal fee, the fleshlings will be able to safely store their "irreplaceable" heirlooms with us, whether it be an old set of armor, a necklace passed down by their progenitor, or a trophy from a long-vanquished foe. In other words, their sentimental garbage. But if they are willing to pay for the service, that is fine with us!

There is, of course, the possibility of being tasked to store items of ACTUAL value, which is something we will monitor closely. Should the items in the vaults ever reach a certain level of value, we may abscond with the goods and depart. However, it is my prediction that this will never happen, as the fleshlings seem much more concerned with retaining ownership of their old hats rather than items of legitimate net worth. Additionally, the items stolen would have to be of exceptional value, since we would be unable to ever return to Azeroth for future transactions. Still, it is good to consider every possibility.

The second flaw these curious beings suffer from is an incredible, unfathomable level of personal vanity. Prepare yourself, my liege. These creatures are willing to go to exceptional effort simply so that their armor colors match. I do not speak of their equipment's effectiveness or enchantments - I mean the literal, physical COLORS.

I observed this practice for a month, for I was certain I was misunderstanding some strange cultural ritual or tradition at work, but I was not mistaken. Personal appearance and aesthetics are apparently essential to these fools.

On a hunch, I queried some fleshlings if they would be interested in a service that could transform their equipment to look like something else, of their choosing. (For a small fee, of course.) This suggestion would have had me laughed out of your court, oh exalted one, but the mortals were astounded at the very idea, and expressed intense interest in such a service.

That is correct, they were willing to part with their precious, hard-earned currency to make their weapons and armor look like something else, while not bestowing any actual benefit.

Sometimes, I worry for the universe.

Establishing this service was simplicity itself. Weaving the arcane has always been second nature to us, including spells of a transmutational nature. I have tasked Arcanists Dushar and Hashom to handle these requests. The anticipation for this service has been very high, so I foresee a significant opportunity for substantial profit in this endeavor.

Despite the elementary nature of these transmutations, the uneducated masses seem entranced by what they think are mysterious, supernatural powers, so we have labeled Dushar and Hashom as "Warpweavers", a meaningless title, yet one that is sure to satisfy our ignorant customers.

Finally, we noticed that there were a small group of independent sorcerers who had carved out a specialized niche for themselves, involving the redistribution of enchantments on magical equipment. We decided that this practice fit in well with our "Void Storage" and "Transmogrification" services, so we have arranged for a small series of tragic and unrelated accidents to befall them, forcing them out of the industry. How fortunate for their customers that the Consortium is fully prepared to handle their re-enchantment needs! I have decided to personally oversee this market, along with Thaumaturge Zajir.

Our varied services are undergoing final fine-tuning and analysis before we make them publicly available, and already the anticipation and excitement is palpable among our fleshy neighbors. I have a good feeling about this one, my Prince, and I believe this practice is one that we might consider also adopting in other markets. After all, why part with valuable goods or items when we can instead simply let our customers' own arrogance and emotional flaws pad our coffers?

Profit to the Consortium!

Sincerely, your humble servant and Wind Trader,

Show/Hide Letter Notes I thought it was interesting that we didn't see the Ethereals in Cataclysm until Void Storage and Transmogrification, and I wondered why they might be involved in those particular services. Flavor-wise, it makes a lot of sense, especially with the Void Storage. And let's be honest - if the opportunistic Ethereals are getting into the game, you can bet there's profit involved.

From there, I kind of wondered - just what would a culture whose priorities revolve around pragmatism and profit think about Azeroth, where the world's greatest heroes are fretting and fussing about their armor's appearance? It would seem absurd! And when you add in the fact that many players have strong sentimental ties to their old gear, which would seem so, so weird to the ruthless/detached Consortium, I basically had the entire Letter's plot right there. I felt it was also appropriate to add a "corporate takeover" of the currently-existing Reforging industry.

Finally, I realized while writing this Letter that Ethereals just may be my favorite race to write. Smart, overly wordy, mocking of other, silly races...they're a lot of fun. :D

Oh, Deer!

2011-11-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

(This scroll of thin, pressed bark smells strongly of dandelions and honey, and is covered with doodles of hearts, bunnies and squirrels.)

Dear Lathy,

How are you? I am fine! I hope everything is going well for your Druid club. Are you protecting the little animals and babies up there in Northrend? It's so COLD up there! And they have little noses and hooves and LITTLE TINY TAILS. If I were you, I would knit them all little wooly jumpers and tiny baby gloves for their cute itty bitty snuggy wuggy paws! MAYBE FOR THEIR TAILS, TOO!!

Anyway, things here are great! Well, they are okay. For a while they were kinda bummy. We were like, hanging out in Hyjal and the animals were eating berries and drinking water and being all adorable because THAT'S WHAT THEY DO. But then RAGNAROS (remember him?) was like RAWR I AM BACK and everyone was scared! And he was like RAWR IMMA BURN YOU FOREST and he lit all the trees on fire! AND ALL OF THE ANIMALS WERE SAD BECAUSE THAT IS THEIR HOME AND HE JUST USED THEIR HOME LIKE A CAMPFIRE. :C

So a bunch of us fled to Aessina's Grove, where the Firejerk's power couldn't get us. It was so sad, Lathy! I cried for like, FOREVER, because the woods were burning and I knew there were so many baby animals trapped and scared and they needed help! I could hear them crying and calling out for their mamas and papas! Crying out for help because they are so small and helpless! (Matoclaw says it was just the sound of the flames but WHAT DOES SHE KNOW.)

I would have gone and rescued them but there were these big fire monsters who were being totally mean and wouldn't let us near! A few druids tried to get in and find out what was going on, but the big fire meanies saw them and burned them! The poor druids had to run away, kitty pelts scorched and charred, bear fur all singed.

Things were looking really bad, Lathy. Really bad! I felt like my heart was going to break thinking of all the little fawns and bunnies and squirrels and cubs that were stuck in that awful heat! What if the ugly smoke was getting in their little adorable eyes? They would be blinking and their eyes would be all red and they would be CRYING!

Or what if the fire was making the rivers and lakes too hot to drink? How would the babies drink if the water was too hot, Lathy? HOW WOULD THEY DRINK?? THEY MUST BE SO THIRSTY.

Oh, poor crying thirsty babies! D:

Thank Elune that some brave heroes showed up and went into the fire and saved the little animals! They were so nice and kind, even though some of them were really ugly! I gave them a wreath made of flowers that I made all by myself and then I gave them ALL THE HUGS for being so great! Now the little babies were safe with their mamas and can grow up to be big and strong and cute and prancy! They were so happy to be safe, I could tell they were scared. Their little tails were twitching! OHMYELUNE they were ADORBS. So I laid down on the grass and snuggled them for like a day. DON'T WORRY BABIES, MYLUNE IS HERE, YOU ARE SAFE NOW!

But! but but but Lathy the babies are safe but THINGS ARE NOT PERFECT STILL. A human passing by the grove stopped to play with the animals (or repair his gear, but who cares about THAT) and told us what was going on in the rest of the world. And Lathy IT WAS HORRIBLE NEWS!!

It seems like soon all of those cutesy wutesy little animals and friends that have been traveling with these mortal adventurers will be ENSLAVED and forced to FIGHT in HORRIBLE GLADIATORIAL DEATHMATCHES!! :O :O :O :O :O

I am horrified! I am mad! I AM SAD!

It is so horrible! It is wrong and mean and CRUEL. How can they even think of doing this to our little woodland friends! What did those little darlings ever to do those mean adventurers, with their big nasty swords and ugly metal armor, OTHER THAN BE THEIR BEST FRIENDS? They kept them company in dark scary dungeons and this is how they repay them? WITH BLOOD?

:'(

Look at them! They are cute little cuddly furry balls of love, not WAR MACHINES. How can you pick up a tiny baby fawn and tell it to fight its friends? They are animals so they can't talk but if they could they would be going "Nooooo I DON'T WANT TO HIT MY BOSOM BUDDY!" They like to eat grass and hop and bounce and play together, NOT HURT THINGS. :(

And it's not even like, oh Mylune it is so sad we agree but we need their INFINITE CUTENESS to battle EVIL DARK SCARY MONSTERS because well then I might agree because CUTE TOTES > EVIL. But NO it is not like that AT ALL, they are making the little animals fight FOR THEIR OWN AMUSEMENT! I wish I could find the jerk who came up with this idea because I would stomp him to the ground! Meanie!

Oh Lathy, I can't stop crying! I love every critter. I love every kind of critter! I just want to hug all of them but I can't hug every critter! I think about how cute they are, and their ears and their whiskers and their noses. I just love them and I want them in a basket and I want little bow ties and I want them to be on a rainbow and in my Grove and I just want us to roll around.

SO, I know you are super busy with your Druid club way up there and I hope it is going great for you BUT WE REALLY NEED YOU BACK HOME LATHY. Just today I saw a Gnome run by with a little armadillo rolling after him. IT WAS ALL ROLLY-POLLY AND soooooooooo cute. But soon that little rolly guy will be forced to FIGHT FOR ITS LIFE with its little tiny paws and stubbly little tail!

I can't take it! Someone needs to do something! THE BABIES MUST BE SAVED!

Luv,

Show/Hide Letter Notes

Mylune and her comically exaggerated cute quests were too funny not to do a Letter for. Her love of baby squirrels, bunnies, fawns, you name it - a great dose of sickeningly sweet fun in the midst of serious Mount Hyjal quests. The dialogue in these quests are great, too - you really get a solid impression that Mylune is all love and no brains. But hey, she LOVES THE ANIMALS!

Also, I didn't intend this, but when I was writing the letter I couldn't help but think how similar Mylune was to the "Can't hug every hat" girl of Youtube fame. If you don't know who this person is, here's a video - it's basically Mylune in real life!

Companions

2011-08-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

daddy

where is daddy
grimclaw hurt

is cold
dark
so wet

grimclaw scared daddy
where is daddy

sky angry daddy
sky roaring

grimclaw not scared at house
even when sky roar and water come in
knock grimclaw down

but
daddy send grimclaw away

tell friends daddy say
daddy scared grimclaw scared too

daddy tell grimclaw go
tell friends
ground shake, house fall down
friends hurt friends cry
grimclaw scared but daddy say go
so grimclaw go

grimclaw good bear
go find more daddy friends
run on sand
grimclaw know way
grimclaw remember
grimclaw good bear

grimclaw find friends
wear fur same color as grimclaw house
but they not friends daddy
they bad men

bad men hurt grimclaw daddy

grimclaw wave like daddy taught
but bad men not wave back
bad men throw fire at grimclaw
hit grimclaw
hurt grimclaw
bad men bad

grimclaw run
hide like play hidey game with daddy
bad men chase grimclaw
shout at grimclaw
try to find grimclaw
but grimclaw too good at hidey game
grimclaw very quiet
bad men give up leave grimclaw alone

grimclaw scared
grimclaw hungry wet cold tired
not want to leave hidey spot
bad men there
sky still mad
angry mad scary

hard to move daddy

daddy
grimclaw need daddy

help grimclaw

day now

grimclaw need help
need to leave hidey place
need to find friends for daddy

hurt bad daddy
grimclaw scared
grimclaw slow
weak
grimclaw scared bad men come back
hope bad men not find grimclaw

grimclaw walk all day
walk hurt so bad
paw hurt each step
grimclaw side hurt too
grimclaw so slow

sky still mad
big holes in ground daddy
loud noises louder than grimclaw ever hear
trees fall down
sky throw trees far way
birds scared
cats scared
birdmen scared

grimclaw scared too

grimclaw walk all day
not see any daddy friends

hard to move daddy
grimclaw tired
need lie down
    just
        rest
            eyes

grimclaw wake up
hear voice
close eyes
scared
try to hidey but can't move
hurt to move so bad
grimclaw scared so scared
no bad men no please no find grimclaw
grimclaw good bear

not bad men
horseman daddy friend
grimclaw so happy
feel warm
horseman help grimclaw
feed grimclaw
rub paw with mush
smell bad but make hurt go away
nice horseman

grimclaw so tired daddy
grimclaw sleep
grimclaw safe
grimclaw hope daddy safe too

daddy grimclaw see strange thing while sleep

grimclaw wake up
everything white
fuzzy like when daddy make food
hard for grimclaw to see
but feel good
not scary

big white deer come
grimclaw feel funny
not normal deer
grimclaw know cannot eat
deer walk up to grimclaw
grimclaw feel better
grimclaw feel safe
deer walk off into trees

big white cat appear
grimclaw know it not bad cat
not worry about cat teeth cat claws other cat friends
grimclaw feel hurt go away
feel strong
feel full
cat nod at grimclaw then go away

daddy grimclaw then see most big bear ever seen
it look like grimclaw but tree color
grimclaw think it king of all bears
it talk to grimclaw daddy
tell grimclaw be brave
that grimclaw must be strong and live
that grimclaw need daddy
but daddy also need grimclaw

big deer cat big bear gone when grimclaw wake up
grimclaw not scared now daddy
grimclaw be strong
help daddy
fight bad men
fight bad things breaking home
grimclaw strong now daddy
grimclaw coming

daddy grimclaw home
now know why daddy no come help grimclaw
daddy hurt too
hurt bad grimclaw think
moon lady look scared

daddy sleeping

daddy no worry
grimclaw here
big bear say grimclaw and daddy need be strong
daddy rest
daddy get strong
grimclaw protect daddy
grimclaw wait

grimclaw here now daddy

grimclaw here

Show/Hide Letter Notes

Pertinent Lore: Volcor, Grimclaw (WoWpedia entries)

(Possibly more to come here, but it's a pretty self-explanatory Letter. Heartbreaking questline in Darkshore.)