Monday, January 31, 2011

Retribution

The drake swept through the air over Mount Hyjal, its red wings a stark contrast to the sea of green. A lone figure rode atop its back. Her mismatched gear hinted as to her being the veteran of numerous campaigns. Greaves and a breastplate bearing the stamp of the forges of Naxxramas, the Black Knight's pauldrons, a helm taken from a paladin driven insane, a sourgelord's greataxe. And over the armor, a faded and threadbare tabard of the long-defunct Argent Dawn.
The drake dove down the a rising column of smoke and pulled up just before striking the ground, it's great wings furiously beating the air to hold it in place. The rider swung one leg over its back and dropped to the ground, her heavy boots sinking into the soft earth. Nearby, members of the Twilight's Hammer cult looked up from the freshly slain corpses they had been scavenging and began to approach her, readying their weapons.

She held her axe over her head, one-handed, defying them. As they came closer, she laughed. A terrible, inhuman laugh, fueled by fel energies, contemptuous, mocking, it chilled the very bones of the cultists. Shaken, they halted. A golden-white fire began to swirl around her, coursing along the length of her axe, scorching the ground around her, punching through the smoke toward the blue sky. Yet she remained unburned.

As the fire began to coalesce into the shape of a pair of outstretched wings on her back, the cultists began to feel real fear. No matter that they were numerous and she was but one. No matter that they had besiged Stormwind and Orgrimmar. No matter that they had taken control of the highlands. No matter that they were close to burning the world tree Nordrassil. Their time was passing, and they could sense it. The great axe began to drop for its first deadly swing, the fire shot out towards them, and now it was no longer a time for Twilight. Now it was a time for Wrath. Now it was a time for Judgement.


Now it was a time for Retribution.

Is Where Jinnik Goes To Northrend

The young paladin stepped off the boat in Valiance Keep. The Lich King was defeated, but Northrend remained a land steeped in history and conflict. Here the Nerubians and Drakkari had made their last stands. Here the Titans had sentenced the Elder God Yogg-Saron to serve eternally in the prison complex at Ulduar. Here the magical city of Dalaran floated majestically over a frozen valley.

Arthas was gone, but the remnants of his undead legions remained. There was still fighting to be done, lands to be pacified, rights to be wronged. Duties to be fulfilled. So what could be going through the young paladin's mind on such a significant moment? Let's find out.

"Holy crap, my butt is freezing! Where in the seven hells can I find a questgiver to suck up to who will get me some real pants?"

Friday, January 28, 2011

Is Friday Night Drunken Movie Quotings

The Warrior With No Name: You'd be Ratshag, out of Durotar. Killer of wimmenzh and children.
Ratshag: That'sh right. I's killed wimmenz and children. I's done killed just about every blunkernubbin' thing what walks or crawlsh at one time or another. And I's here fer ta killsh you, Little Bill.


Danger Mouse: Cut the horseshit, sshon. I've got their disciplinary filesh right here...hic! Who dropped a whole truckload of fizzies into the varsity shwim meet? Who delivered the medical sschool cadaversh to the alumni dinner? ...hic! Every Hallow's End, the treessh are filled with underwear. Every sspring, the toilets exhplode.


Ellspeth: I am a mushician and the monkey is a businesshman. He doesn't tell me what to play, and I don't tell him what to do with his monkey. I mean monkey. Monkey! Arrrgh! Moooo-neeeeey. Rattersh, shtop laughing at me....


Jinnik: And then he calls me a jerk, and saysh that the lasht guy who thought he was a jerk is dead now. Sho I don't say nothin' and he saysh, "What do ya think about that?" So I saysh, "Well, that don't sound like too good a deal for him, then...hic!"


Maurice:  That'sh what I said. Sho if he can't move, how's he gonna shit down, George? I was a stand-up tomato: a juicy, sexy, beefsteak tomato...hic! Nobody does vegetablesh like me. I did an evening of vegetables off-Broadway. I did the besht tomato, the best cucumber...hic!


Phoenicia: A wee while ago, a scuttle men frae yer ship broke intae th' haem ay th' French colonial governur. They started throwin' thingsh ben a plate glass livin' room windae. Ee foond some ay th' things oan th' green. Large warld globe. Wee loove seat. A lot ay books....hic! A burst ay Balzhac. Th' French writer? We also foond a Westfaall Militia private. First classh. He was unconscioos at th' time. He claims they threw heem, tay.
Alayda: T'rough da window?
Phoenicia: That's reit. It seems he took them thaur fur a wee joke. He didne teel 'em it was a governor'sh hooshe. He tauld 'em is was, uh... weel, whit we caa in Ironforge...
Alayda: Ya, mon, we call it de same t'ing in da Echo Islesh..hic!
Phoenicia: Weel, that's abit aw, lieutenant. If it makesh ye feel onie better, Admiral Wentworth shays thes is th' warst ship he's ever sheen in his entire naval career.


Is thanks fer ta Unforgiven, National Lampoon's Animal House, The Return of the Pink Panther, Fargo, Tootsie, and Mister Roberts fer the words.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Shattered

Darkness.

Silence.

Am I dead?

There was a derisive snort to my left. "You ought to be, you dingleberry," said a voice that was comfortingly familiar, even though I had not heard it in years. "They found you in the moat with half your skin burned off. You should be dead seven different ways. Crazy beeish, going up against a dragon with no healer backing you up...."

"Shianti," I whispered. My mouth and throat were dry, so dry, but otherwise I seemed to be all right. Except- "Shianti, I can't see."

I could hear her long ears cut through the air as she shook her head in exasperation. "You dork. You say that every night, and then you forget again. Of course you can't see. It's the middle of the night and you've got bandages on your face. Crazy beeish."

"Bandages....? Every night...? I don't .... remember ...."

"What you expect? You go get half your skin burned off and we not give you many manies of drugs? Is you crazy? You'd be screaming all night long and keep everybody awake. That'd be bad. So we drug you. Keep you quiet. You like."

"David? Bolvar? Are they ....?"

"Yeah, you ask about them every night. Forgetful beeish. They're fine. That man of yours, he hang around all day, but I kick him out at night. He's all mopey. Gets on my nerves. The baby, though, he's adorable. I need a baby. You giefs."

They were safe. Good. The world must not have ended. Also good. Now I just needed to get up, get back into the fight.

"I .... I think I need to rest, Shianti. But tomorrow I'll get up. There must be work to do...."

Shianti snorted again. "You say that every night, you crazy beeish. But yes, you rest now. Is good."

A month later, I got up.

Like me, Stormwind bore the scars of Deathwing's attack. Stone towers heated so hot they were permanently discolored. Gouges where his claws had gripped. And, far below, scorch marks where an idiot paladin had stood and been nearly immolated before making it to the water of the moat.


There was fighting atop Mount Hyjal. The druids were defending the World Tree from Twilight cultists, but the word was they were losing and needed reinforcements. I pushed myself, working to regain my strength. David told me that I should come home to Nowhereshire, that I had done my part and should leave the rest to others. I was a soldier of the Light, though, I told him. The world was still threatened, and with it the lives of everyone I loved. I had to go.

But there was another reason. Although my skin had grown back, greatly helped by the world's healing energies channeled through Shianti, but I was hardly good as new. My right ear was gone, my nose was a flattened, shapeless lump, my mouth permanently twisted in a pained grimace. On much of my face the skin was wrinkled and discolored. I had never been pretty, but now I looked a horror. I knew he still loved me, but I could see it in David's face: he was revolted by my appearance, and simultaneously guilt-ridden for feeling that way. And I wasn't strong enough to come home to that.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Psshaw, You Say?

Any mount can balance a Tizzik on its nose like a bobblehead, you say? She's three foot nuthin' and hardlies weighs more'n a beach ball, you say? Let's see that camel balance somebodies with some heft, you say?

Well, here at Need More Rage we's always happies fer ta satisficate our readers.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Were Four Years Ago Today....

....what this post done appeared on the now defunctified blogging platform Vox. In that time we done been amazingly virile, induced swooning, broken fickin' jaws, killed the Lich King, gluggernuggered fluggermubbing jumperthunkers, flashed Sally Whitemane, offered fer ta flash Garrosh Hellscream, twinked, needed, greeded, looked fer more, kept our feet on the ground, lost Feral, found Feral, lost Feral again, promoted gnome porn, been fuggin' diplomatic, agglaha gahlargl glaha, laughed evil laughter, and generallies had us one helluva good time.

We's enjoyed havin' you buggers along these past four years, and we's lookin' forwards fer ta sharin' whatevers done come next.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Is Where I's A Badass

That's right! Half a million, baby! Suck it, arcane mages.

Okay, now that I's enjoyed the moment, is time fer ta clear out the Critmeister logs and starts over. Thanks a heap, Cenarius.

C'mon Blizz, Get With The Times

Havin' watched this, I say there is no longers any excuse fer ta not give blacksmiths a craftable Flying Anvil Mount!

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Galertruby's Guide To Filing Yer Taxes


Garhhl. Gahhl galha Garrrahhalagh.

Gllah gahr allahhgrl ghallagl gah. Agh glahhgl glahhgl garrh gahhlahr glahhr, ga gallhahl! Aglhha gahllragl gllah aghhrla gahhllrah gah glaghhlh glahh. Aghahll garhhr glahhlglhaarhga ghallah allha, garrharlh agghal ga arhhh galahhargh. Glallh garrh, gahhlahglahhr agglh ahghlagl glagglha ga arhhh.

Gaghaha aglah agghr laghalagh grahagl, gaghaha glhahg agrgha laghahrag. Glhaggla agg larhg galhagga ghaha alahg, glah, gahaghga gahlgal allahg glha:
Glaglha gha, aggrahgl lahg gahhaglarh. Garrh glahaggl glha agghalarg agglahar ghaggl aglha. Agglh ahghlagla agh grrhal, gallha gra gahhllha gallraghl ahl lagglarh. Gahhaga:
Gahagrl!

Glahhgrl glah arrlh aggrhala gahhl glha. Glahg grahhglh glhhlhalha gahhr garrha, aglh glhha gharhl. Glhagl gllha ahhr glahhlglhaarhga ghallah allhag. Gllha garrharlh aglhha gahllragl. Gllah aghhrla gahhllrah gah glaghhlh glahh, gahhl aghhr garahhghlahhrgh aghraahl glhahhl gahhlah. Glah aghr Ghrallhahl gha gahrrlagahr agh gahlagh. Agghlagh garrh arhhlagh gahl grah glahhghl. Glahgl arhlg glah:
Glhargal glah agglha arglhaglh, gahalg aggla gahrlagghl. Laggharlag agglha gah. Aglh aglha gallh gahll gahrrallah. Agrhh glagglha gha ghrallhalha ghagglha gaharrgh glha agglahg, agh argalagh gahhll garhh ahhghr glahh.

Alhhagh gha,
Garrrahhalagh

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Not So Crafty Afters All

So, yesterday I were doin' me fishing daily fer ol' Razgar and as I's reelin' in me catch I's thinkin' this here be a big glubberthumper. He done put up a helluva fight. I were abouts ta tell Missus Brody we had a coupla stripers and we was bringin'em home fer dinners when I finally got the better of him and done landed his scaly arse. And looky-looky who it were:

'Course, somebody done filled me home with goblin poo I'd prolly be lookin' fer a fishhook what ta throw meself onto too.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

A Boy, A Girl, And A Really Big Dead Dude

A new romantic comedy, comin' ta theaters near you buggers this summer.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Is A Public Service Announcement

When yer gatherin' canal crabs fer yer Stormwind daily, please remembers what ya needs ta stop once in a whiles fer ta breathe. Thankee.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Because Why The Hell Not?


Of course, if'n I catch Llanion in birdform again 'stead of ridin his shiny new drake I's gonna whump his feathery arse.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Is The Epic Spaghetti Tanking Trilogy

A Faceful Of Ogre Loins

Fer A Few Ogre Loins More

The Sword, The Board, And The Ogre Loins


Be a tank, they said. See the world, they said....