Archive for February, 2010
The Silverleaf 400 is the biggest racing event in Azeroth and frankly they don’t have anything like it on Draenor either. You can hear it a day before you see it. It echoes off the titanic walls of the Shimmering Basin and blows up so much glittering silt you can’t see anything in front of your face. Half an hour ploughing across the flats towards the race, you and your mount are the same colour and texture, packed with silty mud from head to toe, blind, thirsty, and cranky.
If you think that’s bad just imagine stumbling onto the raceway by mistake during one of the heats. Cursing and swearing about the dust and trying not to step on any scorpions, and then all of a sudden there’s a vortex of clear, hot air that spins you into daylight, which would seem like a blessing from the ancestors except oh shit it’s boiling off the front of a goblin rocket, it’s a sperm-shaped pocket of terrified wind trying to get the hell away from this piece of moving death – it’s so close on top of you you can see the driver trying to put out the fires that are all over the cockpit… good luck having any time to steer — no time, you dive to the ground and hope your mount has the sense to run
Pretty much every morning – or afternoon – I woke up in Freewind, there was a brass band playing behind my eyes and a game of orcish canasta winding down in my mouth. So I didn’t immediately associate all the ruckus I heard outside the tent with anything other than all the wine I’d drunk last night.
Turns out, though, that it was some kind of protest. Or, like a preliminary protest. A pretest.
Anyway, there was a milling crowd of slightly reedy, bookish types, some with kids on their shoulders and others with placards in hand, trying to get themselves organized for a march north across the Barrens towards a populated area and thus someone who might give a darn. Mingled among them were sturdier orcish types who I recognized as tradesorcs from the Pork Farmer’s Union in Orgrimmar, and at the head of the crowd was a guitar-wielding fellow in overalls.
“Who’s that?” I asked Manny Umpo, a troll drummer who was leaning against the tent post nearby and cleaning his teeth. While all this was going on, I realized my braids had collected an astonishing collection of cling-ons during the previous night’s festivities – bay leaves, clods of wax, bits of fruit, and – oh, ancestors, is this an eyeball? whose was it? euuugghhhh.
“’dat be Spruce,” said Manny. “He sum bigtime shouter from Durotar.”
“Ya, Spruce Winterspringsteen.”
Many people come to Freewind Post to find themselves. I don’t know why it takes them so long, it’s not very big.
It is, however, the site of the world-reknowned Free Wind Music Festival, and for a while after the Truce of Hyjal it was a little like New Dalaran is nowadays, but more affordable and much further from any swarms of undead. Freewind started out as a war camp against the centaur, then became a shaman’s meditative retreat, then during the lead-up to the end of the Legion War it was a rear assembly point for Horde supply trains. It was this period where they put in all the manitcore nests and navigated the flight routes from the Needles north to Durotar and the Barrens.
Well, I know y’all have been waiting on me real patient-like, so I’m a might more embarrassed than usual that the sorry tale to follow is shorter than you deserve, and not terribly useful in terms of travel advice.
In a few short days we’ll be coming out with our Freewind Post edition, and I expect our journey together will get back on track, figuratively if not literally speaking.
Actually, there is a piece of practical advice in here, maybe two. One, just leave your childhood alone, let sleeping bullies lie, don’t try to change the past. Your time is much better spent fishing, napping and rambling than plotting elaborate revenge. Yes, Ms. Forsaken, I’m talking to you.
Take care, now.
Well howdy there folks,
It’s been a bit of a rough week chronicling-wise. I’ve been laid low by some varmint of a disease, which diminishes my enthusiasm for writing something significant.
In addition my publisher has been distracted by something about massive effects. I think he has a new girlfriend or something.
I’ll be filling you in soon [...]