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.
Wait.
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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 […]
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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? […]
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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. […]
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Hi there! I have just received the proofs for some “spasmo” as I have taken to calling it, being hip with the technology, from my first piece on Thunder Bluff and her marvellous elevators. I’m going to slip these into the first issue on reprint and pretend they were there all along, but for those cheapskates among you who don’t want to re-purchase the inaugural copy of this journal, I’m also including them here!
-Tenny
Big Thanks to Guildfolk who came out for this shoot: Chapka the orc, Hauvashea the Tauren lady, Lucindrielle the Blood Elf lady, The Pimpest Troll on the Planet, and Mr. Goggles the Tauren gentleman. If you are either of these latter two, please remind me of your names because I’m a fool and have forgotten!
-Tenny
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You know, as far as the Horde goes, we moo-folk are fairly low on our blood-and-thunder quotient. The oral history of our people has its share of battles, for central Kalimdor has never been what you’d call generous in its bounty.
Listen to the following list of destinations and tell me if they make you think of lush vineyards and overflowing harvests:
The Barrens
The Valley of Trials
Dustwallow
Shimmering Flats
Desolace, for crying out loud. Hey, honey, load up the wagon, we’re moving to desolace. Let’s not let all those dead kodo go to waste! I’m not sure if this travel journal will ever cover Desolace, because just thinking about that place makes me depressed.[…]
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Well, a merry Winter’s Veil to all of you. If I don’t seem quite up to the requisite level of holiday cheer, it’s probably because I’ve been had. My advice to you is to research thoroughly all discount travel packages you are offered before jumping on board, no matter how stringent the deadline the agent impresses upon you.
I do NOT recommend the Wailing Caverns Spa and Health Resort for your winter getaway. I expect the spasmodiary, as I have taken to calling the catalogues of goblin imaging, that follows will more than adequately explain the abysmal rating I have given it, and which it richly deserves.
And I wish to restate, for the record, that I am not in the habit of punching elves, but it had to be done.[…]
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