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.

Wet.

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.

Lotta waiting. The grandmothers go through rounds of their prayer beads, the smoke staining their bristly hair. The grandfathers beat the drums, slowly and easily, conserving energy. The young ones, the fighters, we

Polish armor.

A lot. Goddamn my armor is shiny right now.

Fish.

No fish left, right now, of course. But there’s a seemingly endless supply of old boots, bits of leather, moss, coins, rattles, rings, and assorted crap coming up out of the main li’l lagoon, there – and in the caverns of Wisdom too.

Hassle the Grimtotem.

Gnomeloversayswhat? Gnomeloversayswhat? Shit dude, did I see you out wrestling an ogre the other day in Dustwallow? What, that was your mom?

How grim, exactly, is your totem? On a scale of zero to one thousand milligrims, does it measure up? Uh huh. Have you tried a herbal remedy for that? Maybe a poultice?

Complain.

This last batch of elementals wasn’t quite as tough as the one before, were they? Damnit, why do people evacuate so fast? I need to turn in some runecloth. Why isn’t my little brother allowed to fight? This is so much worse than the time zombies almost ate everyone, everyone in the entire world. That was awesome compared to this. This is boring. I want a pony.

You have a pony. You have a pony made of stars, for crying out loud.

My pony sucks. I think some of his stars are going out on one side. I didn’t go for the extended warranty. I feel like my super-special move isn’t as special as it once was. Do you think this thin spot in my hair is getting bigger?

You’re literally a walking corpse, brother. Shit happens. I think you are beyond the help of Gnogaine.

Learn to play the orcish blues.

You’ve always meant to do that, right?

Listen to the earth.

On second thought, don’t do that. It’s bitching even more than we are.

Wait for the sky to clear.

Keep your head down.

Cancel your travel plans.

Next: Nuggets! »