Not bad at all, but I’m in no condition to write a review. I think I’m coming down with something… All I have to say for now is… HIT THEM HARD! BOOM!
There’s something I can’t wrap my head around, so I’d like some help. Was Ner’Zhul’s name known in the Alliance during the first two wars at all? It’s for a detail, but it’s a pretty important one.
The essay is going alright, 37/minimum 50 pages and counting 
I’ll just need to tighten my arguments and analysis.
And, since the updates are taking so long, here’s a deeelicious sneak peek of the future.
:mwahaha:
Jaina saw the rune glow once. Twice. Something unusal was afoot, and to her own dismay Jaina felt her stomach knot. She had to admit, that in between the Lich King’s words and the disturbing orders left behind by her father, she now feared that anything unusual would mean bad news. However, she clenched her hands and strode across the floor to grasp her magical staff in one hand, then laid the other hand on the rune to find the way to where Thrall was. It was far easier now than the first time she had used his rune as a beacon.
She flashed out of existence and reappeared to find herself standing before him in his chambers. The dark look on his face did not make the sinking feeling in her gut any favours.
“What is it?” she asked.
He quickly shook his head, but the concerned expression remained.
“It is nothing great, although it is troubling,” he said, and motioned to the side.
Turning her head, Jaina found that a female tauren was also in the room. Though her braided hair had a grey hue, she did not look old, and her fur, largely pale but with darker spots, had a fine, fresh shine to it. She bowed, gracefully despite her size, and Jaina turned fully to her and bowed her own head in reply.
“My Lady, I am Bashana Runetotem, daughter of Arch Druid Hamuul Runetotem,” the tauren introduced herself. Straightening, the light leather armor she wore creaked slightly. “May the Earthmother smile upon this meeting.”
She spoke Common with some accent, but it was so slight that it may as well only have been part of her warm voice.
“Light be with you,” Jaina replied, though she could not keep from frowning. “What is the matter?”
“Ah,” Bashana said, shaking her great head so that the twin braids brushed against her shoulders. “I wish I could have the honor to meet yourself and the Warchief with merely joyful matters, however… my father sent me here to tell you of this in private, as it is a rather unpleasant business.”
She sighed, apparently not at all bothered by how her longwinded speech stalled the matter. Jaina, on the other hand, was by now plagued by quite a few vague ideas about what this could be about, although she could not really brave a guess. Hearing Thrall shift, she looked up and saw the concerned look deepen on his features.
“I have told you that slavery still exists in our society, though I’ve tried to root it out,” he said, jaw clenched tightly.
A cold suspicion gripped Jaina’s heart, and she numbly nodded. As Bashana spoke again, the blonde head swiveled in her direction.
“My father asked me to tell you that he recently aided two gladiators in escaping their orcish ‘master’,” the tauren said, filling the last word with contempt both with her tone and the look on her face. “That is all well, however, these two were a night elf and a human.”
DUN DUN DUUUN!
Re:essay, keep it up.
Well, of course we are pretending that Blizzard had the slightest idea about story and worldbuilding in the Warcraft world before WC3. They knew his name (3:35). However, in the whole human non-expansion campaign the only Orcish name mentioned is Doomhammer’s (just before you destroy Blackspire), so feel free to do what suits you with the name. If the most important generals of the Alliance (you) learn that late the name of their main foe, it’s probable the rest don’t even know Orcs have names.
Also, that narrator is terrible.
TEASE!! grumbles
Okay okay, back to the main story.
Wil: I’ve seen your note, I just don’t feel like writing a character bio right now at this moment. It’s on my To Do list.
Right sooo… in the last episode of [STRIKE]Batman[/STRIKE] Diplomacy, our intrepid heroes had the emissary from Stormwind cornered. Will he be able to strike back?
But FIRST, an intervention! I wrote this part as a new beginning for this chapter (to be placed before the scene where the Stormwindians arrive). Just to tie the beginning of this chapter up with the end omnious chord
The gryphon couldn’t take much more. It squawked desperately, exhausted, as frightfully aware as its rider of the cold waves beneath them. When the poor creature’s wings gave in, there would be nothing to save them. Land was nowhere in sight, and nobody would hear the cries for help except possibly naga or murlocs.
Death by drowning or stabbing from below. Nothing else.
“Please, oh please just a little more…” the woman on the gryphon’s back pleaded, voice thick from fear. She dug her hands into the soft, thick feathers and massaged the beast’s neck, trying to instill some more strength into it by wishful thinking.
Another squawk, as if to assure her that he would still give his all to bring both of them to their destination – now their only hope for survival. They had flown far too far out, she had known it when she drove the gryphon ever onwards, but she had no choice. She could only hope that the other couriers had been wise enough to turn back before it was too late.
She squinted at the horizon, at the white sails rising above slender ships. Thank the Light, they were actually sailing towards her and the gryphon, if not in a straight line. The beast shrieked, determination filling its cry and it flapped its mighty wings.
They could make it.
The woman raised her hand and wiped her eyes without shame, not even caring to blame the wind. She knew it was relief. At the same time, dread touched her heart as she knew what would come next. The hand sunk towards her belt, touching the documents, the horrible, copied letters she had to deliver.
As it sunk, her hand passed the emblem covering her robe. The sun’s rays glistened in the golden anchor embroidered on green cloth.
There, now back to the main plot. Thrall had just held a speech.
Credit where credit is due – Dunhave gathered his wits with admirable speed, although the glance he cast in Jaina’s direction definitely had a wild edge to it.
“And pardon me,” Jaina calmly said and waved her hand. “Warchief, let me introduce Sir Dunhave, emissary from Stormwind. Sir Dunhave, introducing Warchief Thrall, Lord of Theramore.”
Dunhave threw a quick look between them, then stepped back and bowed his head to Thrall, just the slightest bit.
“Ah- yes, of course,” the emissary said, clearing his throat. Though his voice sounded a little odd, he struggled to reclaim all his composure. “I was not expecting to see, hm, your Lordship.”
“No matter,” Thrall said, expression unmoving, “it was only a lucky stroke that I could be here to meet with Stormwind’s representative today.”
That was as truthful as Aegwynn’s tale about what kept Jaina busy, earlier. No reason to tease the emissary [i]too[/i] openly, though, this was still a political game.
“Yes, an honor, of course,” Dunhave said, although his hands twitched as if wanting to clench. He paused for a moment. “I do admit, the rumor of your eloquence seems well-founded, Lordship.”
“Thank you,” Thrall said, as calmly as before.
Jaina’s smile faltered, however, and she wondered if Thrall felt the same – that compliment seemed too innocent, almost as if bedding for a more sinister-
“Indeed,” Dunhave said, “it shows that my Lord was taught well by Sir Blackmoore.”
The words ripped all amusement right out of Jaina’s soul, and her gaze turned hard as steel as she stared down at the emissary.
Yet, Thrall’s only reaction was slightly lowered eyebrows.
“Blackmoore, no,” he said in a perfectly neutral voice. “The drunkard son of a traitor could not possibly teach anyone anything. The honor you would hand him belongs to Miss Taretha Foxton and a man I only ever knew as Sergeant. But, of course, that is neither here nor there.” There was not, actually, any growl to his voice. One could very easily imagine it, however.
Dunhave visibly tensed, and rightfully so – even the guards did, although Thrall did not move a muscle apart from those he needed to speak. Jaina cleared her throat.
“If that is all Stormwind has to tell us on this matter,” she said, “Theramore thanks Lord Fordragon and His Highness warmly for their concern. You and your escort are welcome to stay here and take part in the celebration of the wedding, Sir Dunhave.”
The emissary muttered some words of gratitude for the time and offer, then stepped around the unmoving Thrall with as much dignity as could be mustered. One of the guards gingerly closed the door, shutting off the sound of rapidly leaving steps. One second. Two. Three.
“Permission to laugh, Milord, Milady?” the guard said in a tight voice, clutching the golden doorknob.
“Granted,” Thrall said.
Both guards broke down.
Jaina would have laughed too, but she could no longer smile with Dunhave’s words still poisoning the air. She stood up and briskly walked over to Thrall. When she touched his arm he blinked as if just waking up, and the blue eyes told her nothing when she looked up into them.
“I will return shortly after bringing the Warchief back to Orgrimmar,” Jaina said, waiting until Aegwynn looked up and nodded in reply, still chuckling, before acting.
Silently, she laid both hands on Thrall’s right arm and cast the spell.
They appeared not in Orgrimmar, but at a beach littered with rocks. In the shadow of jagged cliffs, their feet sunk into the sand, and waves peacefully lapped at the shore. Thrall blinked again, looking about with understandable confusion until Jaina spoke.
“We’re just a bit north east of Theramore,” she said, hands stroking his. “I come out here when I need to destroy something.”
On a closer inspection, one might note that the rocks looked burned, and not naturally formed. Thrall slowly nodded and rolled his shoulders.
“I should not use my powers for such things,” he said, and this time he did show his fangs in a growl. “But I pray the spirits will forgive me this one time.”
Minutes later, many of the nearby rocks had been turned to slag. Water hissed and boiled as the waves rolled up against redhot lumps, turning them black with cracking and pinging sounds.
Jaina straightened, having worked off some of her own rage as well. Layers of ice laid caked across her side of the beach. It seldom helped much, but it was a relief at least. Noting that Thrall stopped moving, she turned around and walked towards him. He faced her in silence. The anger was gone from his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jaina said as she stopped in front of him.
He shook his head.
“You couldn’t know,” he said. “We both expected some jab, didn’t we?”
“True, still…”
She fell silent, shaking her own head. They stood for a moment while the waves kept rolling in over the sand, pushing it around ceaselessly. The glow of magma had faltered, leaving only black chunks of rock.
Finally Thrall shook himself out of it.
“You liked saying that, ‘what do you think, dearest’, didn’t you?” he said, with the shadow of a smile.
“I want to make them learn to hate that phrase with a passion.”
Then he finally smiled again, and dusted his hands off.
“You play a dangerous game there, Jaina.”
“It’s a risk I’m prepared to take, ‘dearest’,” she replied, and he actually chuckled.
He held out his hand and she laid her own in his palm, casting the spell. The two of them disappeared from the silent beach.
Going from the chilly, murky mist beneath the Dustwallow mountainside, to the warm Grommash Hold, was quite a shock. Not a too unpleasant one, though. It certainly smelled better – less salty, wet decay and more smoke, metal and leather. Those scents may not be overly great either, but in compare it was a relief. The smell of the marsh always hung over Theramore on days with little wind, but here there was nothing of the sort.
The stares they got this time were not so intense as less than an hour earlier, when she just appeared after signaling Thrall with the help of their runes. With the emissary not giving a word of warning beforehand, she had simply been forced to wing it.
“Stormwind wishes to have a word with me. I’m sure their representative would be thrilled to meet you as well, Warchief.”
That had caused quite a few snickers, and the surprised looks in the throne room now rapidly melted to viciously curious. Thrall glanced around and, shaking off the last of the unease, grinned at Jaina.
“Well,” he said, thumb bending over her small hand in his to show that she needn’t pull away just because people were watching, “that went well.”
“He looked as if he had swallowed a frog,” Jaina agreed.
This caused sneers and snickers all around amongst those who understood Common, and quick translations leading to more laughter for those who did not.
Amongst all the amusement around them, Jaina looked down at Thrall’s fond grip of her hand. She hesitated, unsure how to act about that – her upbringing with court manners protested wildly against this public display of affection, small as it was.
Thrall seemed to notice, as he moved closer and murmured to her.
“You needn’t be so formal here. If you are, they may actually think you don’t want to be my mate.” When she blinked, he added, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t consider those habits.”
“It’s not how I was taught, no, but…”
She suppressed that wailing voice of her upbringing and laid her other hand on Thrall’s. It was a small gesture, all she could bring herself to do for now, still taken by surprise by this culture shock. She would have to mentally sort this one out later.
The corner of Thrall’s lips rose in approval, and she felt a stitch of triumph at that. Part of her felt aghast at her childish reaction, no matter how insignificant – that would be the same part that had just been howling about proper behavior.
But, intriguing and new as this situation was, both she and Thrall knew that she had to return to Theramore. Jaina opened her mouth to say as much, preparing to leave, when another, singing voice broke in.
“Pardon me, Warchief, Lady Proudmoore.”
They both looked up, and it was with a sinking feeling Jaina found that the lovely voice did, indeed, belong to a blood elf. She stood beneath the steps leading up to the throne, draped in a fine, green dress with gold embroideries. The fel green eyes were calm, but that may as well only be because of discipline.
“Ambassador Dawnsinger,” Thrall calmly said, but his thumb brushed Jaina’s fingers.
“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Proudmoore,” the blood elf said, bowing her head briefly. “If I may ask for a moment of your time?”
“What is it, Ambassador?” Jaina said, turning to face the elf. Thrall let go of her.
Jaina could actually brave a guess at what exactly the matter was, as could her husband. Dawnsinger’s expression did not change.
“There have been worrisome rumors about our Prince Kael’thas threatening you some days before the wedding, my Lady,” she said. “Silvermoon wishes to know what the truth behind these stories are.”
“Of course,” Jaina said, hoping that she looked less tense than she felt. “I will gladly explain everything that happened to you, for your sovereigns.”
“I have already contacted my superiors in Silvermoon City,” Dawnsinger said, turning her face towards Thrall instead. “With your permission, Warchief, Lord Theron wishes to speak directly with your mate. If you agree, I will help my Lord’s image to appear here.”
“I am fine with that if she is,” Thrall said just as calmly, but a line appeared on his forehead – either at the Ambassador’s choice of words, tossing Jaina’s choice out of the equation, or at whatever might come next.
Dawnsinger’s long, elegant eyebrows twitched, realizing that perhaps she could have handled that differently. She caught herself admirably, however, and looked back to Jaina.
I swear this cliffhanger isn’t intentional. The next one is! I just can’t be arsed to plonk out a description of Lor’themar right now, which is why this part ends here XP
All things considered, I have completely lost all respect for both the Alliance and the Horde. Both sides are like rabid dogs snarling at each other, and if they want a war that badly, then fine. Let them tear each other apart. Thrall proved to be an incompetent and weak leader, unable to keep his allies or even his own people under control. Slavery, deathmatches and the machinations of the Royal Apothecary Society keep going unchecked, along with constant provocations and terrorist attacks by the Forsaken, and anyone who’s watched the Wrathgate event knows what’s going to happen. As for the noobliance, we have drunk imperialist gun nuts who are willing to do anything to get to their precious Titan ruins (including slaughtering a whole village!), self-righteous and arrogant draenei (Velen may be decent, but the Hand of Argus reeks. Just go to the prison in Telaar and you’ll see what I mean.), and racist humans led by a frothing mad dog who’s itching to taste blood.
Both sides have that blasted “Hehehe, let’s go fuck those guys over!” mentality. Between the Forsaken mudering druids and conducting terrorist attacks on human lands, the whole Warsong Gulch debacle, the blood elves courting Kil’jaeden, the massacre of Bael Modan and hundreds of other incidents, I’m just surprised the next war doesn’t begin sooner!
I guess if you want some peace and quiet you’ll have to move to Shattrath or Dalaran, or run off with the Argent Crusade and the Knights of the Ebon Blade.
What I believe Blizzard is doing a whole lot better than many other stories of the same kind (Lord of the Rings comes to mind) is showing that there really is no good or bad side in this conflict, if we disregard the Burning Legion and the Scourge. Both sides are just as wrong and filled with hotheads with bitter pasts they can’t cast off. The third war put a dent in those hatreds and showed that there is a need for cooperation - the amount of neutral quest givers of all kinds shows that it’s not hopeless.
There is things that all the leaders could do better, but none of them are Gary Stus or Mary Sues. They’re not perfect. Deepseated conflicts like those on Azeroth isn’t easy to deal with. Thrall, I think, is doing as much as he can (trying to save Moira Bronzebeard is a fine example). The draenei, for example, remember a genocide by the orcs. The orcs remember the [STRIKE]concentration[/STRIKE] internment camps.
Offhand… somebody pointed out that when you start as a human, (aside from the usual “kill X amount of monster Y”) you get quests like “Go kill my damn snotty neighbour’s prized pig!”, while everyone else, even the Forsaken, are told things like “We need more resources to defend ourselves/food/ingredients for antidotes”. Hmm.
(I wouldn’t know how true that is, I’ve never played a human. Only Alliance char I ever had was a dwarf and a…
…
>_>
night elf
The only thing that peek on the Other Side gave me was even less respect for 'em. Couldn’t take two steps without somebody throwing a guild invite at me without saying a word first. Bloody rude.)
That said… vote Magni Bronzebeard for Leader of the Alliance!
Amen to that.
LOTR doesn’t do that because there is a good and a bad side there.
Mentioning the lovely voice belonging to a (degenerated, corrupt etc.) blood elf is a nice touch. Ditto for the description of the beach.
Aw! You’ve got more done already? You are evil for not letting your fans at the Pit know!
“Oh, pardon me. Was that too eloquent?” Win.
I’m beginning to agree with you on that. I wish Blizz would give us the option to ditch both factions…but unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. Oh, well…that’s what fan fiction is for.
Thrall proved to be an incompetent and weak leader, unable to keep his allies or even his own people under control. Slavery, deathmatches and the machinations of the Royal Apothecary Society keep going unchecked, along with constant provocations and terrorist attacks by the Forsaken, and anyone who’s watched the Wrathgate event knows what’s going to happen.
Several trolls, a tauren, and an orc or two grumble, glare daggers, and finally sigh in reluctant agreement.
As for the noobliance, we have drunk imperialist gun nuts who are willing to do anything to get to their precious Titan ruins (including slaughtering a whole village!)
That a Wrath thing, or something I missed in basic WoW/TBC?
[…]self-righteous and arrogant draenei (Velen may be decent, but the Hand of Argus reeks. Just go to the prison in Telaar and you’ll see what I mean.)
Farseer Lolotea, Vindicator Ariaadne, Umbriel of Halaa, Niahlaani of Farahlon, Hariiti of Tuurem, Anchorite Iolanthe, and Vindicator Rohael all look first briefly indignant, then ashamed.
And…one word: Kuros.
and racist humans led by a frothing mad dog who’s itching to taste blood.
Can’t argue with you there.
Both sides have that blasted “Hehehe, let’s go fuck those guys over!” mentality. Between the Forsaken mudering druids and conducting terrorist attacks on human lands, the whole Warsong Gulch debacle, the blood elves courting Kil’jaeden, the massacre of Bael Modan and hundreds of other incidents, I’m just surprised the next war doesn’t begin sooner!
Or there.
I guess if you want some peace and quiet you’ll have to move to Shattrath or Dalaran, or run off with the Argent Crusade and the Knights of the Ebon Blade.
Probably.
Oh hai thar Well ah, about that, uhm, well fidgets Naw, these fine people here are my test pilots, then my beta runs through my stuff and waves her superior grammar skillz at me before I post the finished versions on ff.net. May I pacify you with one complete Dor’ash and Sarah story and another, begun one? hides from Wrath of the Draenei
Rig: Very true about LotR’s us vs. them philosophy… I was just reading a book about popular literature about how Tolkien is damn racist because of his portrayal of the orcs.
I stumbled across this forum completely by accident…and I should probably mention that I’ve done copy-editing before?
May I pacify you with one complete Dor’ash and Sarah story and another, begun one? hides from Wrath of the Draenei
Ooo, always nice…
Rig: Very true about LotR’s us vs. them philosophy… I was just reading a book about popular literature about how Tolkien is damn racist because of his portrayal of the orcs.
I’m trying to track down that trilogy that was basically an inversion of LotR: vaguely Blizzard-esque orcs struggling against nasty imperialist humans. It was written by a Native American guy, and it used to be linked on TVTropes; that’s about all I’m recalling off the bat.
Uh-oh, load of text incoming. Let me begin by the Silmarillion, the more private of his works, to better justify my position. Hint: It differs.
We don’t see a lot of the orcs in the Silmarillion and they are always connected to Melkor. First, he corrupts the elves into the orcs and then we only see them dispatched to kill or be killed. They are always impersonal and grouped in armies or warbands. That’s because they are a symbol, they represent empty power.
Melkor/Morgoth is a being of the greatest potential and power, who shies away from the creator’s plan and remains with strictly destructive, worldly powers. The existence of orcs is akin to the orcs flinging flinging human heads at the relatives of the dead in Minas Tirith. Furthermore, the orcs serve strictly as an extension of his will in that book. This is an important point because Tolkien continually stresses that Morgoth tries to bend other creatures’ will (a prime offense against free will) and the orcs are his major offense of that kind; they aren’t ever shown to be able to resist him. When he calls, they cease being independent agents.
The elves play out the grander parts of the free will problem and the humans the rest (note how easily the humans can be fooled by Melkor or Sauron). Even the Eastern folk who are faceless in LOTR get some showtime. Just like Ents are a force of nature, orcs are the force of Morgoth manifest. One aspect is protective and the other destructive, true, but Tolkien stereotypes the dwarves more than the orcs in the Silmarillion. The orcs have a delineated role, while the dwarfs appear time after time to be selfish warmongers. They just got better press later on. (But then why aren’t the elves considered stereotyped pricks? In Hobbit they are obnoxious and in LOTR they are high & mighty except for the archetype of Galadriel and Legolas’ warming.)
The rest is probably needless, but well, I already wrote it.
In the Hobbit, the goblins are folk tale material. Mean enough to horrify 13 plump dwarfs and a hobbit, but when Gandalf brandishes his magic sword (and Thorin follows) they give them enough space to start running like these Scooby Doo sequences.
In LOTR Sauron’s pawns don’t get a lot of screen time. Sauron himself is an inexistent character, he’s the desire for power inherent in each of the book’s other characters (as further symbolised by the ring). The orcs are at his orders and guided by his will (when his eye looks elsewhere, his armies tremble). But as the power involved is smaller, we get some glimpses.
When do we see orcs up close and “sociable”? When Pippin and Merry are captured by the white Uruk Hais of Saruman and the small orcs of the Black Gate, they are subjected to forced marching and receive a few threats. The hobbits have the protection of Saruman, but the orcs aren’t extreme, considering it is wartime. The good riders or Rohan kill and burn all of them a few pages later.
Then Frodo is captured after Sam’s battle with Shelob. The orcs don’t get any points there, what with organising into factions and killing each other for a spoil, however Tolkien makes a point to show that such failings are why Sauron may lose despite his power. The Silmarillion is chock full of elf and human infighting by the way. Even the Valar fight between them.
The most interesting is what we really learn about orcs. The scout and the grunt are clearly discontent and would like to leave the war, the patrolmen near Morgul would like to set out on their own with the lads (to plunder. Like Turin’s band), and weak, unhappy orcs because Gollum fodder.
[As for the humans that serve Sauron, all they do is die without us learning what’s their stake in the war. We learn that some of them are farmer-slaves and, looking into the Appendix, that Sauron won their trust once.]
LOTR has certain uses for its characters. The bad guy with the promise of being redempted is the Gollum. The hobbits are your everymen, with Pippin and Merry to keep things simple when Frodo (the real veteran of the war) and Sam (the unknown hero) have left, Saruman and Gandalf are the opposites of duty upheld/forsaken, Theoden-Grima-Eommer-Eowyn have more to do with hope when things look grim and bailing out would be easy but degrading (with a feminist dash for Eowyn and reinforcing the unlikely hero element), Aragorn has a bucket of archetypes thrust upon him, but counterpoints Denethor’s slow debilitation (the first is older than the latter), Legolas and Gimli are the anti-prejudice pair and Boromir/Faramir are the two different responses to temptation. Character development isn’t the high point of LOTR, anyway. Gollum is presented as the lowest of the low, even more slimy and far out than the orcs, but, on his own, it’s pretty important.
To end my blabbering, people in Tolkien’s books have to position themselves on moral dilemmas. Orcs represent the challenges posed by those who took the bad decision, so that there is a reward for the easy way out (wear the ring and control orcses to your heart’s content). A better question is why the dilemmas are often black & white, not why the device Tolkien uses (a faceless force) works as intended (with a dash of cruelty in LOTR, granted).
What book was it?
I’m not rereading that screed I wrote a third time.
Lolotea: I was gonna contact you about that second, just started story anyway. There are a bunch of draenei there and you know waaay more about them than I do. So you can come bludgeoning me over the head with your current pet, shouting “That’s cute… but it’s WROOOONG!” as you see fit XD
That trilogy sounds like a hoot, do share if you find out the title
And just admit it, you’re stalking me, aintcha?
Rig: What I love about literature science is seeing how people can look at things from different theoretical angles and bring forth so many different viewpoints Yours are sound arguments, Rig. Here’s a quote from that book I was talking about. She works with a post-colonial and feminist theoretical approach.
From Deconstructing the Hero : Literary Theory and Children’s Literature, London and New York (1997), pp. 142-3.
Then she goes on to discuss how this relates to Doom. Yes, that Doom. I LOVE THIS BOOK. Although she also proves that the Babar books are a pile of damn French colonial propaganda, proving once again that this kind of science makes the world into such a cold, hard place…
So far, so good, actually.
That trilogy sounds like a hoot, do share if you find out the title
Finally found it…and put the info back up on TVTropes, under the proper entry, because someone had deleted it for being in the wrong place. Then, that “Killer Hack” guy messed up TVTropes…I know, he does it as a practical joke, but it was still annoying of him. Go fig.
Anyway, the trilogy is “The Way of Thorn & Thunder,” by Daniel Heath Justice. The volume titles are Kynship, Wyrwood, and Dreyd. And after having read just some minor info…I really need to get my mitts on them.
And just admit it, you’re stalking me, aintcha?
Maybe.
The beauty of the soft sciences, no?
I agree about the classism (ha, the firefox dictionary doesn’t even have the word!) and the us versus them mentality. It’s easy to see how white/black can be interpreted as racist, but you’d have to overlook the symbolism of these two colors in Western tradition and Tolkien doesn’t strike me as the man who would be ignorant of that.
The linguistic point is interesting. The black speech is different, but it represents an intentional warping done roughly 7500 years before. If the intentional warping is enough to consider it a beginning of a new language, wiki says the oldest Indo-European proto-languages began 2500 ago and look how far we are 4500 years later. Tolkien was adamant that a language should be connected to its story. It’s a better point that it was intentionally designed to be ugly.
It’s funny that the way hobbits speak is closer to the orcs; lively and without big words. But yeah, the hobbits are the forgotten farmers (England’s soul) while the orcses are nasty invaders. I hope he gets a nod for being Jew-friendly, what with the Dwarvish being influenced by Hebrew.
Anyway, humans aren’t conquerors of orcs; it’s the other way round. If you can’t tell, LOTR and the rest were a mainstay in my library 
Thanks for typing out these paragraphs. While I may disagree in this case, it’s always useful thinking about these things. Tolkien and the Other would be fun.
I still remember a Doom review, when I was young, stating “It’s weird how no one else had thought before of dealing with demons by shooting at them with a shotgun”.
Well, most of the Forsaken quests in Hillsbrad are about butchering innocent farmers and getting reagents to make poisons which are then used on prisoners and some poor dog just because those lunatics from the Royal Apothecary Society are bored. But you’re right, some of the quests in human lands involve killing some family’s prized pig for trashing the other family’s crops. But most of the stuff is about fighting bandits and you even get to help a couple elope (their families have this stupid rivalry).
Oh, and here’s the part about the Hand of Argus that makes me sick, courtesy of one Interogator Khan.
What are you doing in Nagrand, filth? Answer me!
What are you after, blood knight? Speak or the brutes will punish you.
Captured Halaani Bloodguard raises an eyebrow at Khan.
Interrogator Khan kneels down as if to get closer to the blood knight.
Surprised? You thought what? That draenei do not beat their prisoners?
You are correct, we do not beat our prisoners. Broken, on the other hand, have no issues with violence. You see, they are brutes, after all…
Beat this filth until it speaks…
Telaari Watcher nods.
Telaari Watcher nods.
I don’t think the naaru would approve of such behavior.
As for Bael Modan, you learn about it while questing on the Horde side in the Barrens. You run into a tauren whose village the dwarves destroyed in their frenzy to get to more Titan ruins. You run around helping him teach the damn dwarves a lesson. It wasn’t just an accident or a misunderstanding. They sent troops all the way to the Barrens and killed them all off, the damn imperialists.
Which is why I never play Forsaken…and why, if any of my trollies get Ambassador of the Horde, it will involve wayyyyyyyy too much runecloth.
But you’re right, some of the quests in human lands involve killing some family’s prized pig for trashing the other family’s crops. But most of the stuff is about fighting bandits and you even get to help a couple elope (their families have this stupid rivalry).
I don’t really play humans, either…my warlock has kind of been relegated to bank alt status. Then again, I’m not too impressed with the class, either.
Oh, and here’s the part about the Hand of Argus that makes me sick, courtesy of one Interogator Khan.
Agreed. When I said “Kuros,” I was implying that hints of draenei having as much capacity for being right bastards as any other race are dropped far earlier than that.
As for Bael Modan, you learn about it while questing on the Horde side in the Barrens. You run into a tauren whose village the dwarves destroyed in their frenzy to get to more Titan ruins. You run around helping him teach the damn dwarves a lesson. It wasn’t just an accident or a misunderstanding. They sent troops all the way to the Barrens and killed them all off, the damn imperialists.
I believe the tauren druid who got deleted and rerolled (long story) skipped that one and jumped right out into the Stonetalons and/or Thousand Needles.
I think that show of racism and brutality just adds some flavor to the draenei. Sure it’s disgusting, sure it’s immoral. But it also shows another side of them, past the “Hail the Light, we’re the good guys!” impression they sort of give off.
But of course, everyone knows that the Horde is ebil. eyeroll
I played a Forsaken, and though I fed a Scarlet Crusder prisoner with poison (he insulted me!) I drew the line at the dog-poisoning. I did do something else for that Apothecary though, where he gives you a potion and tells you “give this to my assistant”, and I turned around and it said “click to complete quest”. I didn’t see anything, so I just clicked automatically. There was a “RIBBIT!” and I looked down to see a dead frog. Oops. Sorry assistant! ;_;
Anyway, back to the story! Keep a lookout for spelling errors, my spellcheck has given out on me
Just a little bit this time, to end the chapter.
“I will gladly speak with Lord Theron if he wishes it,” Jaina said. As she said so, she did make a slight motion towards Thrall – this was his seat of power, and in her view it was his place only to decide what was allowed and what was not. Had he not already given permission she would have asked his opinion.
“Many thanks for your graciousness, my Lady,” Dawnsinger said and took a step back, moving her hands away from her sides. “I shall act as a conduit.”
Her green eyes slipped closed and her lips moved in a murmur. A flash of light danced from her hands and hit the floor a couple of steps in front of her, forming a glowing circle on the ground. An outline rose up within it, gracefully filling up with colors and shadows to form a tall blood elf with long, silvery pale hair held up in a high ponytail and spilling over his shoulders. A fine cloak, probably embroideried with the seal of Silvermoon, hung over his back and accentuated the light, red and golden armor he wore.
It took almost until the very end of the swift forming of his image, before Jaina saw how one of his eyes glowed fel-green, but the other laid dull, blind.
As the spell finished, the blood elf looked first at Thrall and saluted.
“Honored Warchief.”
Thrall silently nodded in return. Lor’themar turned towards Jaina and bowed.
“Lady Proudmoore.” His voice was smooth and melodic, just as most other elves’. Just a slight accent tinted his Common, commending rather than muddling it. “Myself and the blood elves extend our warmest wellwishes to you, as we already have to your husband.”
“Thank you most graciously, Lord Theron,” Jaina replied. She lightly grabbed her long skirt and curtseyed as befitted the greeting of a Regent Lord. Straightening, she continued, “I understand that you are all disturbed by rumours you might have had.”
Lor’themar’s smile faded, and he grimly nodded.
“I would have wished our first conversation to be of more pleasant things, my Lady,” he said. “Your honored husband told us earlier today that we ought to ask you to tell the whole story, as you alone can tell it entirely.”
“Of course. I ask you for patience – what I will say may surprise you, but I only repeat what happened and what was spoken on that night.”
Jaina recounted the sudden appearance of the Sun Prince in her bedroom, with as much detail as she could. Her memory of every exact words spoken could not be perfect, she knew, but she retold the conversation as well as possible. Throughout Lor’themar stood silent, but at Kael’thas’ “brutish embrace” comment his long eyebrows twitched slightly and his mouth tightened. In the background, some of the shamans and Kor’kron Elites snorted or growled, sounding more amused than disturbed however. That light tone changed on the Prince’s parting words, becoming disbelief and scorn at best, and Lor’themar’s gaze hardened. Jaina, not feeling very at ease with repeating Kael’thas threats in public, especially not to his own people, felt no better at that.
As Jaina fell silent Lor’themar opened his mouth. Then he suddenly glanced to the side, at something or somebody catching his attention on his end of the world. A flash of annoyance passed in his eye, creasing his fine brow.
“Lord Rommath, please!” he said, in a low but commanding tone. Turning back, he returned his face to a neutral expression. “Pardon, friends. There are many others listening, and these are worrisome and unpleasant tidings indeed.”
“Truly, they are.”
Jaina pursed her mouth, thoughtfully pressing her thumb and pointing finger to her chin.
“My Lord,” she said, “as I said I repeat only what the apparition said to me. I could not swear that the illusion who spoke to me was truly sent by Prince Kael’thas. However, if it was indeed a fake, and let us hope so, it was very well done.”
Lor’themar glanced to the side again, nodding as he listened to somebody speaking for a few moments. Finally he raised a hand towards them, asking silence. That done he turned his attention back to Jaina.
“There are already troubled reports reaching all of us from Outland,” he admitted. “None of us here in Silvermoon City wish to think that they are true. As per your own doubts, my Lady, I would allow for hesitation in this matter. It should not lie in our Prince’s interest, nor his personality, to be so uncouth towards any lady. Especially not one of your status.”
Yet the words were ‘should not’, instead of ‘does not’. Jaina full well noticed that, as he surely intended, but she did not give any sign of it.
“I agree,” she said instead. “I have fond memories of Prince Kael’thas from the Violet Citadel. He was always a gentleman, and would never have said anything of the sort.”
Keyword being ‘was’, and the undercurrent of ‘not back then’. Right now, things were so very, very odd in Outland, but the blood elves were apparently far from ready to accept any foul words about their Prince.
Lor’themar slowly nodded, and his smile returned with a tiny hint of relief to it.
“It warms my heart to hear that you keep good memories of our Prince,” he said. “Let us wish that future dealings between our people will be free of such uncertainties.”
“Indeed,” Jaina agreed. “I would not wish to inflict any pain upon your people, and I only regret that I must bring you such disconcerting tidings.”
“No one would place the blame on you, my Lady,” Lor’themar replied.
His voice was honest, but Jaina was left feeling that many blood elves would prefer to call her a liar. The Regent Lord bowed his head.
“I thank you for your clarifications, Lady Proudmoore, and for now bid you the warmest of farewells,” he said.
“May the Light bless you and all your people, Lord Theron,” Jaina replied and returned his gesture by bowing her own head.
Lor’themar exchanged a brief farewell with Thrall, then faded away. The light sunk back into the floor and Dawnsinger straightened, opening her eyes for the first time since she cast the spell. Mumbling some thanks, she quickly left, unable to keep her eyebrows from sinking low in worry.
“Seems I rattled them,” Jaina muttered to Thrall as she felt sure the elf was out of earshot.
“It couldn’t be helped.” He gave a small, grim smile. Then he nodded and spoke louder. “We have kept you long, I believe.”
“No matter, it was an important issue. I will see you later,” Jaina replied and took a step back.
Still they watched each other, and she felt the others in the room looking on as well. She found herself looking forwards to the evening, when she could speak with Thrall about all the things that had happened in private. But there was no time, nor was it the place, for that now. The teleportation spell was so ingrained in her being that she brought herself from Grommash Hold to her own throne room as easy as she breathed.
In all honesty it was a relief to return to Theramore, after that meeting with Lor’themar. Jaina even allowed herself a soft sigh as soon as she appeared before the throne, despite being watched by the others in the throne room. Luckily, those were still only Aegwynn and the guards, the Lady took note of only when the sound had already escaped her.
“We were getting worried, my Lady,” Aegwynn commented, tilting her head in a silent question.
“Pardon, there were some matters of state in Orgrimmar as well,” Jaina said, and briefly explained the blood elves’ query. Then she begun to ask, “Has anything else of importance happened here while I-”
The sound of shouting and heavy footfalls from outside cut her off and she looked up, frowning. Before anybody could react, the door to the throne room was ripped open. The first flash upon the eyes only caught the green cloth with its gold embroideries, hung over finely hammered armor.
Jaina’s breath caught in her throat as her brain caught up on the sight before her. The protests from the guards faded to a mumble in the background.
In the doorway, blond hair and beard standing on end and his face grey as ashes, stood Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore.
PARTY TIME!
Oh, you know just how to show your characters a good time. How long before we can expect the tentacles?
I don’t think even I can squeeze C’Thun into this thing.
Wait.
No.