In response to the Alliances’s attack on on orgrimmar yesterday, we shall repay you 10 times fold! We will storm the gates of stormwind, and we will kill any Alliance player in sight! Who is with me?
I know not who attacked you or your city, but I warn against making an attack in retaliation. As I am forbidden to leave the city know that at least one will be ready to meet who ever comes by to cause trouble.
Though I do hope you show, my head has been cracking for a month now…
…and I have a curse to feed.
Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness.
thumps mace on the ground
Sure you wanna make this walk?
Oh, I am so sorry we missed that. We were busy in Dazar’Alor. We’ll come visit Orgrimmar soon so you don’t feel left out.
Come play. It’s been far too long.
Wait, do people still do that? I mean, I have my bear, but its been so long. I shall have to let my brothers know, so that we may properly welcome you to Stormwind. Keep in mind, I take great pleasure in causing pain and suffering.
<<odd, it won’t let me choose OG Plains, just Classic Plains…bahwhufflesnort>>
oi, Deadfella, y’aint even tauren, recon ye fervor is more ‘bout bein’ dead than bein’ horde. Why dont’cha just sit yer partially decomposed butt down and mellow a bit yeh? I got me here some MIGHTY fine herbs what’ll take that edgelord off. This has all happened before, it’ll all happen again, and ain’t a lick of it matters.
Might want ta remember, it ain’t like we’re innocentneither. After all, was we whut burnt Teldrassil on hte orders of a al-mad witch-lich. An’ most folks comes back alive anyway, so what’re ya ever gittin so upset about? Besides, Anduin? He’s Friend of Baine. And Baine’s aFriend of Me. So…SHUT. YA. YAP.
Ain’t no such thing as honor when death is broken. Damnfool undead can’t see the future for the rot.
Gen had hear of the Plainswander from her cousin Gentyl. She respected the bull on that account, but yet blood had been spilled. Stormwind had been attacked. Anduin attacked. This would not go unanswered.
She’d pen a message to the Plainswander and hope he was well and grazing in green pastures, well out of the way when death came calling and it would.
(Hello, old friend. It’s so good to see you again. It’s been far too long. I miss you.)
((Likewise Ma’am. I hope you and yours are safe in this new world we’re all living in))
Plainswander looked down at the letter…
“Gentyl has her a cousin? Well dang, ain’t that sweet…oh, wait…now hold a dingdang minute… she’s a threatnin’ me? Ah Gen, didn’t yer auntie teach ya nothin? I’m a lover, but I’m a fighter too…”
Plainswander sighed heavily, same flop, diffr’nt day Gol durn’ pinkies just don’t know when ta move on. Guess I better sharpen mah feathers.
Gen sat down and thought about all the stories Gentyl had told her about the gentle bull Plainswander. How she wished she’d been there, but the stories made her feel like she had been.
She should send him a gift. It was a dangerous world out there, moreso now with Anduin gone and everyone spoiling for blood. Even so, she wanted him to think fondly of Gentyl and perhaps her. What would he like? She’d have to think about this.
And perhaps send another message.
Robinhoof looked at the boxes and crates piled around her tent in dismay. She liked things quiet. Orderly. This would never do.
Where on earth to find that bull Plainswander?
Part of the delivery had already arrived when Faithe landed at the small tent where the tauren named Robinhoof lived. Since she had been raised by Orcs for the first ten years of her life, she needed no interpreter. She still slipped back to visit the old orcs who had raised her as often as she could to take them food, cloth, medicine, furs, and other things they might need or want. Papa particularly liked a certain kind of tobacco she found in Dalaran, and Mama loved sweets, so she stocked up on candies. More and more often she’d been bringing potions for arthritis and other aches and pains.
She bowed before the young heifer and introduced herself. The other Presidium members were already there. “Greetings, Peace and Balance be with you, mistress.”
“And you,” the tauren replied shyly. Looking around the gathering warily.
“You agreed to contact the bull Plainswander for us?”
She pointed helpless to the boxes and crates already in her tent. “Yes, but I thought it was just this.”
“No, there’s something else. We’re waiting for it now. Do you mind it we stay here until it arrives? We can move somewhere else if it would be more comfortable for you.”
“No, I suppose that will be all right. I will fix tea.”
Faithe handed her a flask when she returned with a pot of tea and a varied collection of cups. “What is this?” robin asked.
“Elixir of tongues. You’ll be able to understand everything that’s said. Perhaps that will make you more at ease.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the flask gratefully and served the tea.
The conversations were friendly, memories mostly of a woman named Gentyl, sometimes referred to as Sepha or Lady Gentyl.
Robin sat a bit apart from them and listened quietly, wishing she had never offered to help the old bull out, but he was well-respected and how could she not?
“Hey,” said one man, “remember that one time she was experimenting with those new long-range explosives in the Barrens and blew Plainswander and the mail up?”
“Well, in her defense,” Faithe said. “She didn’t know anyone was over that hill and I think liquor may have been involved.”
“Liquor was involved with most of her best adventures,” the man replied.
Robin twitched her tail nervously. “I thought Gentyl and Plainswander were supposed to be friends?”
“Oh, they were,” rang out in a chorus. “She didn’t blow him up on purpose,” Faithe said. “She was just a bit accident prone.”
“Yeah,” Raven said. “No one could figure out who was buying all her cookies when she started that baking business because let’s face it, those cookies were terrible, harder than rocks. Turns out the horde were buying them for weapons and knocking holes in walls with them. She was declared a public menace and forbidden to bake again on pain of imprisonment.”
Robin’s eyes grew larger. “So, she took up a different hobby?”
“She tried fishing, but Orwyn objected to that too. He’s the head of law enforcement in Stormwind.”
“Why wouldn’t he let her fish?” Robin asked.
“Something about her fishing in the water around Stormwind with explosives and he was afraid she was going to blow the city up. She was a bit accident prone after all and I suppose liquor was involved. He posted signs around about no more fishing with bombs and dynamite…even with a license.”
“Uh, there aren’t any bombs in these boxes, are there?”
“Oh, no,” the man said. “That was part of the will. We had a big party and blew them all up. Except the alarm-o-bots in the kitchen because we couldn’t decide if they were really explosives or just alarms.”
“OK, I have a bit of a headache. I think I’m going to lie down.” She wasn’t sure at all this woman was Plainswander’s friend. Somehow, she had to send him a warning. What kind of paladin drinks and blows things up? Including Plains!
SCENE: Somewhere in Azeroth
Location: Undisclosed location. A modest dwelling, with a very big door.
Camera opens on a view of beautiful green plains, with trees here and there dotting the landscape. We are looking out the door from inside, the camera slowly pulls back from he doorway until it is a small rectangle of light surrounded by darkness. A darkness that is, somehow…fluffy. And twitching ever so gently - small lights and sparks begin to accumulate, and the camera begins to turn.
As the camera continues it’s pan around the room, we see that the darkness is made up of a multitude of small bodies, all of them just so gosh darn adorable, and all alive, chirping, twittering, hissing, mewing, barking, and otherwise raising a din truly riotous proportion.
As the camera come to rest facing the back wall, the uninterrupted panoply of horribly adorable pets is, ahem, interrupted by a single large Tauren hand pushing it’s way free of he cuddly chaos, one single finger raised in the universal sign of frustration and rage.
(I admit, I laughed. Sorry, Plains, but it’s better than blowing you up again.)
At last the last of the shipment had arrived, of all things…a stove.
“Are you sure this is for Mr. Plainswander?” Robin asked.
“Oh, yes,” the priestess replied. “He likes to cook. Especially omelettes. We’ve been looking for a special frying pan to go with it, but haven’t been able to find it, and some gin, beef-flavored gin.”
Faithe shrugged. “It’s a favorite of his.”
“But what are these animals for? Food?”
“Light, no! They’re to keep him company. Gentyl left them to him in her will and we added to the menagerie a bit along until we could find him. Recently word came to us he’s been seen again, so it was time to pass them along. The stove is, just for cooking. It’s enchanted and it, well, it dances and plays music with its lids. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
As if on cue, the stove started dancing around and the lids popped up and down clanging out some kind of tune.
“Uh, yes. I’m sure he’ll love it,” Robin said. Did they really know anything at all about Taurens? On the side was welded “To Plains, From Gentyl” in brass lettering. “She made that?”
“Yes,” one of the men replied proudly.
“It’s not going to blow up, is it?”
“Don’t think so. Wouldn’t that be funny if it did, though?”
“Yes, hilarious. Well, the post man has assured me he can get this to Mr. Plainswander, but why I don’t know.”
Faithe leaned forward. “Because she loved the old bull in her own strange way.”
“Wait, what about this calf here? It’s not addressed to Mr. Plainswander,” Robin protested.
“Oh,” Faithe said, “that’s for you. Gentyl used to like to moo at every Tauren she saw. We thought you might like to have this little orphan calf to think of her every time it mooed.”