Archive for November, 2010




Editor’s Note: The enormous changes wrought by Deathwing’s Appearance have placed considerable strain on the author’s mental and emotional stability, as will be explained below. However, we can assure you that, on pain of horse-whipping, he is going to get back to writing an actual travel-oriented journal RIGHT SOON and no more of this meandering nonsense. Please look forward to purchasing your copy of THE GOBFATHER: A Traveller’s Guide to Azshara and the Steamwheedle Cartel, very shortly.

So, when I heard that the leader of the Bloodhoof clan, Grandfather Cairne, had been assassinated by the same fuckers that used to push me into mud-puddles at camp, I made a face like this:


When I discovered that some gigantic-ass dragon had deformed the continent of Kalimdor, thus rendering all of my carefully-researched, personally-vetted, extremely reasonably priced travel advice obsolete, a mere curiosity, I made a face like this:


How to Wait Around for the End of the World


Another windswept night of ash and rain. Thunder Bluff is built high up, exposed, no canyon’s shelter or mouldering walls here – a huge vista across all our territory. That was the way we liked it, wanted it. After so long of having nothing of our own, we drunk in the sight every morning of all that land. Not out of greed, or pride – or not just that. We felt a tremendous responsibility, just as deep as the one we owed Thrall for organizing the effort through which we took this land. A responsibility to the land.

Mulgore weather was still and sunny – when the rains came, they came straight down from ponderous, heavy anvils of cloud that marched, slow as a herd of kodo in calving season, from one end of the endless sky to the other.


Now, even between the attacks, a blistering, howling gale cuts across the exposed surface of the mesa. The rain, angling in on us, is a mass of bees.



Okay, I’m done with the metaphors for now. Stop hitting that bottle for a bit. Leave it alone. The metaphor coach is pulling into the last metaphorical station; all passengers exit the metaphor in an orderly manner, on the left.

We Love The Leader!


Yes, we do. So much.



So as my good friend Orduin has mentioned, things are going down the crapper pretty quickly, and the Horde is looking for deft, subtle types to investigate who might be behind the pooper-dive. Instead they got me.



A Place in the Sun

Another full issue soon, on the fun you can have infiltrating dangerous cults … on a budget! In the meantime — I am having some weird ass dreams. And why should I be baffled all by myself? Who is this dame? Humans all look the same to me.