Archive for January, 2010
Well, li’l Thunderers, I haven’t been supremely regular in my writing this past week. I hope you’ll forgive me. The truth is, I’ve been a bit soggy, in body and spirit, after an attempt to transcend some of my childhood trauma ended poorly.
Remember when you were growing up, and there was always one big, dumb kid who lived down the way and who would make you miserable for fun? I’m assuming that you do, since you’re literate, so you probably weren’t the big dumb kid in question.
If you’re a Tauren, you remember, and you will also remember that that big, dumb kid was probably named something-or-other Grimtotem.
Naturally, if you’re a Tauren you have an excellent sense of direction and a mystical bond with the Earth Mother, and you will never get lost crossing the Needles. All of these canyons have their own unique appearance, from the subtle gradations of the rockface, to the pillars of rounded stones shaped by wind and long-vanished rivers, to the carcass of the hyena you passed an hour ago the third time you came through this way. Yes, you will certainly not break down weeping, terrified of never having another tea biscuit like mother makes again, squeezing the dead hyena like a teddy bear for comfort, all alone in the vast and windy darkness between the spires.
Not if you stay on the damn road.
Listen, there’s a possibility I’m going to get a bit sappy here.
Even the most drily humorous traveller is occasionally swept up in rapture at the stark beauty of Kalimdor. It’s my home and the home of my ancestors, and that adds another thick layer of rich, buttery nostalgia, causing me to view sunsets through a smeared haze. I am told there is no cure; but travel is a good form of therapy.
Make camp at midday near the end of the golden road where it begins to curve east through the Razorfen Hills. Find a fishing hole, punt some dwarves, collect some herbs, do as you like.
Hey there, This is a special little in-between issues bulletin to correct a grievous error on my part. I was informed via a letter — well, a piece of bark with some zevra-blood scrawled on it — by the Quilboar Anti-Defamation League, that I have been misidentifying their species in a very short-sighted and blundering […]
I feel a certain sympathy for razorbacks. If you’re a Tauren, you know the frustration and embarrassment of bearing a resemblance to a barnyard animal. When you see us meditating under a waterfall or burning off some energy in the drumming circle, it’s partially so that we will have the calm heart and compassionate mind not to throttle the next person who comes up to us while we’re weaving a nice basket and starts mooing in our face.
I’m not even sure why people moo at cattle, let alone Tauren. Cows already know how to moo. They do it better than you ever will. They’re not impressed by that shit. Think of all the things that you can do better than livestock; why would you want to compete with them on their home ground? […]
Like stars that shine more brightly against a dark and moonless sky, the life that blossoms in the Barrens does so with gusto. There are large, permanent wetland oases, the centaur-infested ones, and small ones that come and go with the rains; in either one, the plants are pollinating eachother pretty much seven days a week, like they’ve just come out of a twenty-year coma on New Year’s Eve. I bet you thought that the soothing, rustling sound you can hear while resting beside the fishing hole was just the wind, but it’s actually plants copulating.
You’re welcome. […]