Archive for argent confessor paletress

Days of future past

Posted in General, Transcripts with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 14, 2012 by Garrosh Hellscream

The trip from Kalimdor to Northrend isn’t exactly a short one, but normally it’s never really felt long to me.  This time, though, it felt like it took forever.  A short way into the flight, I took Edwin down below deck to talk to him alone and laid out the story for him – how his other self had managed to mess up the timelines, and how that’s led to everything being a disaster in this world.  The worst part is that he barely responded to any of it.  Just sat there, listening, staring at the floor most of the way though.

I was expecting him to get angry or argue with me or something when I told him what we needed to do, but he didn’t say a word.  Just sat there, almost-but-not-quite nodded…I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.  It’s an awful lot to get dropped on you all at once, and then that’s without it even being YOU that’s responsible, in a way at least.  And without it being your BROTHER whose meant-to-happen death is the lynchpin to the whole damn thing.

Liadrin was there to greet us at the Argent Vanguard.  The place was much more heavily fortified than the last time I’d been there.  Over the last several months, Horde and Alliance forces had been pushed back from the Borean Tundra and Dragonblight, and so now most of the combined troops have been consolidated here.  The base was expanded and reinforced, with more buildings, ramparts, a keep for the command base, a docking tower for airships…really impressive, actually, until you stop to think what made it necessary.

When we arrived, the base was in the middle of fending off an attack by Nerubian tunnelers.  Nothing to worry too much about, according to Liadrin – these Nerubians crop up every so often and are more of a nuisance than anything.  Fitting enough for a big ol’ batch of cockroaches.

From the docking tower, we could see Saurfang and Bolvar leading some of the troops around and beating the bugs back.  While Drok and his crew tended to the Windrunner, a couple of Liadrin’s aides took Jaina, Faranell, Dontrag, and Utvoch down to their temporary quarters to get settled.  The rest of us stood on the docking platform, watching the skirmish below.

 

DRANOSH:  Definitely not enough of them to really get anywhere.  Why even bother?

LIADRIN:  To be a disturbance, most likely.

GARROSH:  Why waste soldiers – or, well, bugs – just to annoy your enemy?

LIADRIN:  Think of it from the Lich King’s perspective.  You have an effectively unlimited supply of minions.  They don’t need to eat or sleep or rest.  You enemy does.  Why wouldn’t you use some of those minions to disrupt your enemies’ sleep and stop them ever settling in for a meal in comfort?

GARROSH:  You know, when you put it like that, it’s actually kind of creepy smart.

DRANOSH:  I think I’m going to go down and give the good guys a hand.  It’s been a while since I’ve been on the winning side of a fight.  <smirks at Garrosh and gestures toward Saurfang below>  Besides, can’t let the old man get too big a lead on me.  You want in?

GARROSH:  Go ahead.  I’m going to stay up here and get caught up with Liadrin.

DRANOSH:  Up to you.

Dranosh leaps down from the docking tower.  Liadrin and Mokvar move to either side of Garrosh.  They continue to watch Dranosh while they talk.

LIADRIN:  Have you told him?

GARROSH:  No.

MOKVAR:  Are you going to?

GARROSH:  <pauses for a long moment>  If I did, do you think there’s any chance at all that he would turn back?

MOKVAR:  <shakes head>  No.

GARROSH:  Then let him go to the end not having to know who killed him.

 

We watched the battle for a while – Mokvar and I filling in some of the extra details on the Great Time FUBAR for Liadrin – until it finally wound down and the Argent troops returned to their stations.  Liadrin and the others went into the keep to see about squeezing in a meal uninterrupted, but I wasn’t feeling very hungry, so I stayed outside and figured I’d take Mortimer out to stretch his wings some.

There was an orc soldier at the stables tending to another wyvern when I went to get Mortimer.  We got to talking while I saddled Mortimer up.  Guy name of Gar’lok.  Turns out he was one of the soldiers at the Wrathgate.  He asked a million questions about the demon attack on Orgrimmar, but above all he was worried about whether his kid had gotten out in time.  Something told me not to ask, but I couldn’t help it.  His kid was a boy.  Named Gurtash.  Of course.  I wrapped the conversation up quickly and took Mortimer out.

We circled around the base a few times, then as we were flying over the keep, I spotted Mokvar and Edwin standing outside, looking over the base.  I brought Mortimer down and joined them.

 

GARROSH:  Everyone still inside?

MOKVAR:  Back in their quarters now, mostly.  Liadrin was going to meet with Bolvar.  I think she’s going to have him take charge of the base while she’s away, once we’re ready to go.

GARROSH:  What about Saurfang?

MOKVAR:  I think he’s assuming he’s coming with us.  Can’t blame him, really – how often does he get to go on a mission with his son?

GARROSH:  This will be his last one, if we manage to pull this off.

MOKVAR:  You know we will.  Especially now.  I mean, come on, bringing two Saurfangs?  That’s not even fair.

GARROSH:  Heh.  Let’s hope.  <looks to Faranell>  You hanging in there okay, Doc?  You’ve been pretty quiet.

Edwin stares silently into the mountains.

Doc?

Edwin continues staring wordlessly.

Edwin?

Edwin turns to face Garrosh, still not speaking.

Look, I know you’ve had an awful lot dropped on you today, so I can see why you might be having trouble wrapping your head around it all.

FARANELL:  <looking down at the ground>  I’m not doing it.

GARROSH:  Um…

MOKVAR:  Oh boy…

GARROSH:  You WHAT?

FARANELL:  I said I’m not doing it.

GARROSH:  You understand this whole thing kind of HINGES on you, right?

FARANELL:  Yes, I do.  I also understand that if we do what you were talking about doing, it means Patrick is going to die.  Hell, not even just die – what did you say? – he gets turned into some undead mastermind working for the Scourge?  He doesn’t even get to rest in peace!

GARROSH:  I know, I know, it’s wrong and it’s awful and it’s not fair, but it’s the only way to set things right in this world.

FARANELL:  And who decides what’s “right,” Garrosh?  You?  I’ve heard people talking – here and in the future – and I don’t exactly get the sense that you have this great track record for deciding what’s “right.”

GARROSH:  Edwin, this isn’t what was supposed to happen.  Hell, you were in Orgrimmar – did you not see those demons overrunning the place?

FARANELL:  You also said back in my time – where I came from – the Scourge was going to overrun Lordaeron.  So if you’re so fired up to go change the past, why don’t we just go stop that from happening, too?

GARROSH:  Because like it or not, the Scourge invasion was what was supposed to happen, it’s what ALWAYS happened—

FARANELL:  It always happened to you, Garrosh!  Why is it okay to fix your present and not mine?

GARROSH:  Things only ever happened like this because the past got MESSED with, Edwin!

FARANELL:  Your past!  Not mine – these events you’re talking about that “had to happen” – they haven’t happened yet for me!  They’re my future!  Who the hell says Patrick wasn’t “supposed” to be alive?

GARROSH:  He’s only alive because you – he – the OTHER you went back and mucked things up so he WOULD!

FARANELL:  So what?  Good!  I’m glad he did!

GARROSH:  Edwin, that’s exactly the kind of shit that an ENTIRE DRAGONFLIGHT devoted their lives to preventing!

FARANELL:  Well—

GARROSH:  You can’t go back and change the past just because you don’t like how it turned out!

FARANELL:  I—

GARROSH:  You see how things play out in the future so you decide you’re going to go back and prevent it?  Nothing good can come out of that, Edwin, it—

FARANELL:  Don’t go to Pandaria!

GARROSH:  …

MOKVAR:  Oh…crap.

GARROSH:  Did…you not hear ANYTHING I was just saying?!

FARANELL:  What, you don’t like a little tinkering with your future?  I thought that’s what we did around here.

GARROSH:  What happened with Patrick HAPPENED.  And if we don’t set it right… Look, I get that you care about him, but look around.  You’ve got to realize people are DYING because of this!

FARANELL:  You’re asking me to kill my brother!

Garrosh punches Faranell, knocking him down.  While Faranell gathers himself, Garrosh stands over him.

GARROSH:  Listen to me carefully because I’m only going to say this once.  I get that you’re scared.  I get that you’re upset.  You have a right to be.  I am too.  And if you want to be angry at me for laying all this on you, you want to hate me, you go ahead.  <glares at Faranell a moment, collecting himself>  But don’t you DARE stand there and talk to me like you’re the only one losing a brother.

FARANELL:  <head hanging>  It’s…it’s not right…

GARROSH:  You’re right.  It’s not.  <looks around>  There are a lot of things that aren’t right.  <looks back to Faranell>  I think you need to see some more of them.

 

I pulled him back up, brought him to the stables, and had the flight master set him up with a gryphon.  Then we took off and flew a path around Icecrown – taking care more than once to steer clear of the frost wyrms that seemed to be in flight nearly everywhere.

We flew over Ymirheim, where legions of vrykul were marching, training, lining up in squads.  We flew over the Shadow Vault, back in Scourge hands, where saronite from the Weeping Quarry was being used to build massive siege engines.  We flew over the front gates of Icecrown Citadel, surrounded by thousands of flesh giants and colossal skeletons.  One battalion after another of zombies and ghouls.  Gargoyles enough to blacken the sky, until I got the bright idea that we maybe didn’t want to be flying around out there.  On the way back to the Argent Vanguard, we flew over the Broken Front, where an army of Scourge was gathering and marching east, while frost wyrms circled over Scourgeholm.

We landed back at the base, on a hill where the Argent people had put up a large tent that served as a makeshift chapel.  From where we stood, we could see the mountains beyond the Breach, and part of the field swarming with gathering undead.

 

GARROSH:  This is what we’re facing.  You know those Scourge I told you about, the ones that wiped out Lordaeron?  They weren’t even a fraction of this.  And they’re coming.

FARANELL:  Patrick… Right now, Patrick is safe in Thunder Bluff.

GARROSH:  Right.  He’s safe in Thunder Bluff NOW.  Before that he was safe in Hearthglen.  And safe in Andorhal.  How long before he runs out of places to be safe?

Faranell lowers his head quietly.

Liadrin’s people will fight to the last person to hold them back.  I’ve got no doubt of that.  But sooner or later, it WILL be the last person.  And then all of this gets unleashed on the rest of the world.

FARANELL:  I just don’t want him to die.

GARROSH:  Doc, it doesn’t make me any happier to tell you this than it makes you to hear it.  But Patrick is going to die.  The only question is, how many others are you going to let die with him?  How many would he LET you?

Faranell paces around for a moment, occasionally looking back toward the marching Scourge, then walks up to the entrance to the chapel tent.  From inside, Argent Confessor Paletress steps to the opening to meet him.

FARANELL:  You’re the confessor?

PALETRESS:  <nods>  I’m Argent Confessor Paletress.  Do you need to unburden your spirit?

FARANELL:  Yes, Confessor.

PALETRESS:  Tell me what it is you’ve done, friend.

Faranell looks past the Breach as waves of Scourge gather, frost wyrms circling in the sky above them.

FARANELL:  I couldn’t even begin to tell you what I’ve done, Confessor.

PALETRESS:  I’m sure it’s not as bad as you believe.  Guilt often weighs on us far more heavily than the true weight of our sins.

FARANELL:  It doesn’t matter.  What I’ve done isn’t what I’ve come to confess.

PALETRESS:  What do you wish to tell me, then, my friend?

Faranell watches a frost wyrm tearing down the tower at Crusader’s Pinnacle in the distance.  He looks down and rubs his hands over his face, then finally lifts his head, not quite returning his eyes to Paletress.

FARANELL:  I’m going to kill my brother.

 

“The Light does not abandon its champions.” If only she knew.

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The Last Stands of Sylvanas

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

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

 

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

*  *  *  *  *

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

 

EPIC VERSE!

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Monday mailbag

Posted in Mailbag with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 12, 2011 by Garrosh Hellscream

mail20

Oh man, yesterday’s post with my latest EPIC VERSE really set off a shitstorm in today’s mailbag.  Apparently there are some really pissed-off humans out there who had to get in their two coppers’ worth.  So, here goes…

 

To Garrosh Hellscream:

I don’t know why I keep checking on this “blog” of yours to see if there’s anything worth reading, or any signs of something redeemable about you or your kind.  Without fail, my investigations are greeted by some despicable piece of drivel like you latest work of “poetry.”  This time, though, you’ve gone over the line.

It’s bad enough to mock such noble citizens as Lady Proudmoore, whom I would think you’d show at least a modicum of respect if only out of deference to her (admittedly misguided) friendship with your countryman Thrall.  And I’m not even going to dignify your snide insinuation about my son by discussing that point.

But to take advantage of the recent fall of our lost brother Benedictus, and to accuse him of some…misbehavior…which was responsible for some sort of perceived behavioral tendencies in my adult life…and that all of this somehow led to…performance issues on my part… And, hold on, Tiffin was a saint, okay?  Don’t you even bring her into this!  A saint!  By the Light, I miss her, at least SHE understood, and…and finally someone made me feel safe enough to…ANYWAY THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT.  The point is, you’ve gone way over the line this time, Hellscream, and the day is coming soon when you’ll be made to pay.

–King Varian Wrynn, Stormwind

Fuck you, Varian.

That pretty much covers it, right?

Also: the prosecution rests, your honor.

(Also also: I love the part there about “I don’t know why I keep reading this blog” – it’s like this trend I keep seeing online whenever somebody starts hating on something: “OMG I hated that book!  Hated it!  And I read it SIX TIMES, and every time I hated it more!”  Like…dude…just don’t read it, okay?)

 

With warmest regards, to Garrosh Hellscream, formerly Overlord of the Warsong Offensive, now Acting Warchief of the Horde:

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my quill to pen this note to you, good sir.  It had long been my hope that human and orc alike might set down their petty differences and join hands in fellowship in pursuit of a higher calling.  While we fought valiantly beside one another against the tyranny of the Lich King in our time together in Northrend, and stood shoulder to shoulder in the face of unspoken horrors as the minions of the wicked Scourge rose up to oppose us; while we laid to rest, I had once hoped to think, our superficial animosities during our time overseeing the preparation of our assault on Icecrown when we gathered together on the hallowed grounds of the Argent Tournament; despite all of these and many other considerations, through all of which I developed a healthy respect for you as a soldier and rising leader of your people, Warchief Hellscream, it now saddens me to see the depths to which you are willing to sink for the sake of petty, destructive childishness.

Who but our foes could profit from such actions?  We defenders of Azeroth are weaker as a whole for such things.  While we turn upon each other, the minions of death surely must sit back and smile in satisfaction as we undertake to do some of their work for them.  It is a comfort, at least, that we left Northrend victorious, the Lich King having fallen, for surely were there still a Lich King he would delight in such strife between our people.  And yet, while we may take some small comfort in the knowledge that the wretched undead Scourge shall no longer profit from our conflict, we must forge on in the knowledge that other foes still stand before us.  The Burning Legion, the Twilight’s Hammer, the Old Gods themselves still remain, and surely it can only work to their advantage for us to dwell on such petty, trivial matters as those that you have chosen to glorify and pursue in your recent misguided writings.

Think on my words, young Warchief, for in them you will find, I will hope, a wisdom that may yet guide your stewardship of the Horde to higher and more noble grounds, and allow us all to rise above these petty conflicts to forge a brighter, stronger future for our people.  May the Blessings of the Light go with you, and light the shadows that yet haunt your baser thoughts.

Now if you’ll pardon me, I need to locate some mead and matches.

–Highlord Tirion Fordring, New Hearthglen

TL;DR, Tirion.

You lost me at the “orcs and humans joining hands” and singing Kumbaya and shit part.  For real, dude?

Like seriously, part of me really wants to see what would happen if I locked this guy in a room with Dontrag and Utvoch.  Only problem I could see is that either they would literally use up ALL the words and there would be none left for the rest of us to use anymore, or they would reach some kind of verbal critical mass and create a black hole of words that would threaten to suck the surrounding room and eventually the whole planet into it.

Oh, and speaking of sucking anything that’s nearby…

 

Warchief Hellscream,

You are a sick, sick individual.  I can’t begin to imagine how you can even think to write these things.  I can only hope that one day you’ll manage to wake up from your adolescent haze and blossom into the maturity of the average twelve-year-old.  Until then, I suppose I can only have pity on your pathetic, disgusting soul.

–Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Theramore

Gotta say, the “Lady” part of your name there really amuses me.  Along those lines, from now on I think I’d like to be addressed as “Vegetarian Garrosh Hellscream.”

Anyway, don’t get mad at me just because your girlfriend’s mouth gets going after a few drinks.  Maybe you should have worked a little harder to keep it otherwise occupied.  OH NO HE DIDN’T!

Oh, and SPEAKING of whom…

 

To Garrosh Hellscream:

I’m speechless.  Utterly speechless.  You swore up and down that anything we talked about would be between you, me, and the wall – little did I suspect that apparently you meant your FACEBOOK wall!  What kind of a person do you have to be to swear confidentiality to someone, then run around blabbing it?

It really is sad that you feel so at ease with using alcohol to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable, easily influenced state.  I would pray for you if I didn’t have such a headache.

–Argent Confessor Paletress

On the first point: I ❤ irony.

On the second point: You know, when I saw the line about taking advantage of someone while they’re drunk, I was going to make a Jaina joke, but that wouldn’t be fair.  Everybody knows you don’t have to get Jaina drunk.  And I mean EVERYBODY, amirite?

 

Dear mortal,

Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.  I can’t begin to tell you how entertaining it is to watch you ants scamper back and forth, swiping unsuspecting at each other over nothing, and generally wearing each other down so that, when the time comes, your metaphorical anthill can be brought to nothing with 0.0003% resistance rather than 0.0005% resistance.  Not only are you assuring me that my eventual, inevitable triumph will play out that much more smoothly, but you’re providing me with endless amusement in the process.

Please keep it up, all of you.  You’re doing Titans’ work, as the saying goes.  At least until I get around to undoing same.

–Sargeras, Twisting Nether

The hell?

(Literally?)

Also, since when do they get internet in the Twisting Nether?  He’s able to frigging e-mail me from the TWISTING NETHER, and meanwhile if I get too close to an air elemental, my why-fly cuts out on me?  I’ve got to get Spazzle on this.

Anyway, at least somebody is enjoying the blog.

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Argent Gossip Girl

Posted in EPIC VERSE with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 11, 2011 by Garrosh Hellscream

At long last, a little something for you to enjoy while I go look into matters in Feralas.  My latest creation, BECAUSE YOU DEMANDED IT!

 

High Argent Confessor,
They call me that these days.
Once I was just Paletress,
No difference either way:
Just a simple Elwynn girl
Who joined the Argent Dawn;
I heard what would await me,
And baby, I was gone.
Truth is, I was not inspired
By service to the Light;
Nor did loathing of the Scourge
Compel me to the fight.
But to be a confessor?
To hear folks’ guilt and hurt?
I’ll comfort countless weary souls—
And hear some juicy dirt!
Confessions are in secret,
But wine is like truth serum;
And since you’re buying, between us,
I guess that you could hear ’em.

* * * * *

Mighty Warchief of the Horde,
Thrall: admired, revered, adored.
Blue-eyed orc,
Still a dork,
Way too straight and narrow.
Goody-two-shoes to the last:
Too few scandals in his past;
Worth adoring,
But so boring!
Straight A’s at Caer Darrow. 

You should have some better stories,
Tales of blood and rage and glory!
Not a one?
You’re no fun.
Such wasted potential!
Green skin marked by fiendish fel stream;
Kill a pit lord, raise some Hellscream,
Drink and brawl,
Listen, Thrall,
You need badass credentials!

You’re a mighty shaman, true,
But people won’t be scared of you
When as bad
As you’ve had
Is library past-due.
Kick some ass and take some names.
Give me something; this is lame.
Clark Kent, drat.
(Wait, who’s that?)
Green, but you can work blue.

To be fair, such trials to weather,
You had to have your shit together.
Freed the clans,
Fought the man,
Birthright to reclaim, huh?
Maybe memory’s mildly muddy
From being Saurfang’s drinking buddy?
But if not,
Well, nice thought.
At least, hey, you banged Jaina.

* * * * *

Muradin,
Where’ve you been?
Hiding with the Frostborn.
Tale belied:
Thought you’d died
When the prince found Frostmourne.
Pain and grief,
Such relief
To know that you’re not dead.
Slick respawn:
Mem’ries gone
From when you bonked your head.

At least that’s what you tell them now.
Cover story?  Yes, and how.
Luckily
You come to me
To unburden your spirit.
Really you just wanted out
From all the guilt and fear and doubt;
Plagued your mind,
What they’d find
And what they’d do to hear it.

Back when Moira went away
Dragged to BRD, they say.
Thaurissan
Was the man,
At least you let them think.
Now she’s joined the Dark Iron coven,
Little dwarf bun in the oven,
But forsooth,
Want the truth?
You’d better grab a drink.

Bronzebeard scandal – yeah, you guessed it.
You two went and straight incest’d it.
Yes you did.
Dagran’s kid?
That tale is kind of fishy.
She went hiding in the depths
While you by arctic winds were swept:
Better dead
Than inbred,
Except you’re not that squishy.

Muradin!
What a sin!
Knocking up your niece.
When he grows,
Has twelve toes:
A conversation piece.
Self-exiled,
So reviled,
Punishment exquisite:
Chaste you’ve kept
(Well, except
When Jaina came to visit).

* * * * *

Tirion the Argent Highlord!
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
Truth be told, I cannot afford
Losing this job; so do I dare
Spill the beans on Fordring?  Listen—
When we blab, he takes our heads off.
But I see the wine glass glisten—
Top it off once and all bets off.

Just a little more,
Pour it to the brim.
Here’s what you came for:
All the dirt on him.

Holy Light, that man’s insane!
Really, you would never guess it.
Hunting penguins with a cane—
Half the time he’ll even bless it.
Every day he staggers in
Angry-drunk and spewing rage.
Let him spot you, he’ll begin
To curse you out and act deranged.

Did I tell you what he did
The one time Eadric raised his voice?
Let’s just say he can’t have kids:
Eadric’s not “the Pure” by choice.
He steadfastly will refuse
To dine without his lucky mittens;
Mention Arthas, blow his fuse,
And he’ll go set fire to kittens.

If you are a lass
Don’t give him the chance
To grab at your ass.
(He won’t let me wear pants.)

I love the stories that I hear,
All the scandals, sleaze, and strife;
But I swear with Tirion near
I honestly fear for my life.
He’s unstable, he’s a loon,
Loud and lewd with vices diffuse.
Hunting Scourge and hunting poon:
Talk to Jaina.  (Daddy issues…)

* * * * *

Honored heir of House of Wrynn,
Varian, where to begin?
Stormwind’s king,
Touchy thing:
Temper, temper, sire.
First Cathedral of the Light,
Robs the coffers, then takes flight.
Just you wait,
Off’ring plate:
Empty.  Yep, it’s dire.

Why so angry?  Why destroy
The Church he’d served as altar boy?
Years ago,
Don’t you know,
Reading age for Highlights:
Benedictus, pastor then,
Spotted one young Varian,
Oh so sad,
Showed the lad
An early Hour of Twilight.

Ever since then, he’s been damaged;
Bloody miracle he managed
To perform
So was born
A son to House of Wrynn.
Don’t know how hard Tiffin tried;
Virginal king since she died.
Jaina?  Nay.
That fine day
Was saved for Anduin.

(Fuck you, Varian.)

* * * * *

No more wine?
Okay, fine.
No more stories, then!
Change your mind?
Till next time!
I’m sure we’ll meet again.

When you pour,
I’ll tell more.
No need to make a fuss.
But don’t fear,
Jaina dear,
That weekend’s between us.

 

EPIC VERSE!

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