some dork

commentary on topical minutiae

My bad

Sorry to the readers of this blog.  I got all motivated to start writing daily articles, and fell flat on my face.  No excuses, just haven’t been motivated to write, whatever that means.  It’s a sorry excuse, and any professional writer will tell you that “waiting for inspiration” is the best way to NOT be a writer.  You have to make the commitment, and start banging out prose whether you feel like it or not.

I actually have a writing assignment, given to me by the wifey.  I’ll try and put it up by the end of the weekend.

Meanwhile, keep watching my twitter posts in the right sidebar.  I do at least maintain a thready pulse there.

A few quick hits:

 

movie review

Finally sat down and watched The Dark Knight.  I rate it a 9 (out of 10).  For a summer blockbluster (spelling error intentional), you’re not going to get better than this. All the talk I heard about Heath Ledger’s performance of The Joker lived up to the hype.  Yes, the “agent of chaos” motivation is about as weak as it comes, but somehow Ledger pulls it off.  I haven’t seen such a creepy arch-villain on the big screen since Hannibal Lector.  Oh, to brag just a bit, I highly recommend watching this on a large HD screen.  The Blueray version is breathtaking.  

 

hey left wing democrats, stop crying already

The is a mini-tizzy going on in the left wing concerning Obama’s selection of Pastor Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at his inauguration.  

The gripe?  The left claims, with some merit, that Warren is simply hard right wing beliefs packaged up as a jolly, congenial fat guy.  The biggest beef (take the pun for what you will) is that he is a stringent anti-gay marriage proponent, going so far as to sponsor the now infamous Proposition 8.  Thus Obama is giving credence to the idea of denying civil rights to a minority group is acceptable.

For the record, I fully and whole-heartedly support a gay couple’s right to get married.  However, I prefer we’d go farther than that, and remove the word marriage from all statutes.  In my opinion, the government has no right to define or control marriage, it is a religious issue.  This is simple separation of church and state, and the government has overstepped its bounds here.  Leave it up to a church to decide if its gay members can be married or not.  I understand that most of the left wing (nor most of the country) do not share my opinion on this issue.  However, one thing I can say to the left–  your tizzy over the invocation is not helping your cause.

We’ve had eight (and to a lesser extent 28) years of marginalizing the opposition.  The result has been a downward spiral of polarization.  The opposing side is simply shut out of power, and their voice is cut off.  Obama is taking a new approach.  Get the opposition into the conversation.  Sit them down, and try to understand their point of view, instead of shutting them out to plot their triumphant return (and it will happen) upon which they can simple shut out your side.  Obama is breaking the vicious cycle.  Do I think it will work?  I have no idea, but why not give it a try?  The tactics the left wants to employ now (i.e. not allowing Warren to deliver the invocation) are a microcosm of what has clearly not succeeded, and has only served to divide our country more and more over the years.

I do have one example I can point to.  Bill O’Reilly and Keith Olbermann (and I know you guys read this blog) please take note.  There is a fella on another network moving the political discourse of this country forward with an innovative approach, subsequently, he is putting both of you to shame.  That’s right.  Comedian John Stewart is doing a better job than the two of you, and this isn’t really even his main gig.  Take a look at his interview with Mike Huckabee on the topic of gay marriage:

Stewart makes reasonable, nuanced arguments. He does not shout nor attempt to claim any moral high ground. Huckabee, although I do not agree with him in the slightest, represents his side well, and shows us that his constituents are far from backwoods hillbillies. With more of this type of discussion, on air and in public, we may finally be able to move forward as a country on these important social issues.

Dork out.

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The Kick Off: Let’s See How Long This Lasts

somedork’s daily briefing

 

historical note:

93 years ago today, Ford announced the rollout of their 10 millionth Model T.  That year, the car cost $440 which is $9,300 in today’s dollars.  Henry Ford mythology states that he wanted to manufacture a car the workers on his assembly line could afford to buy.  That is sorta, kinda true today.  

The United Auto Worker’s Union has done a fine job of keeping up the wages for their membership.  Their website reports that the average assembler worker earns $27.81 per hour.  Assuming an employee did not work overtime, and took standard vacation days, this translates to an annual salary of about $54k.  Today’s version of the Model T, the Ford Taurus, costs $24k for it’s basic model.  If Henry Ford’s workers of today meet his desired wage criteria, it is probably not how he envisioned.

If the worker of 1915 did indeed earn enough to buy a Model T, then he would have been pulling down about $20k in today’s dollars.  In my mind, Henry Ford’s intent was to keep his cars cheap and affordable to the general public.  A salary of $20k a year is pretty low, that is below the poverty level for a family of four.  It seems that instead of cars being affordable for the poor, cars got more expensive, and auto worker’s salaries also climbed. 

I don’t know if this has any bearing on the predicament of the Big 3 today, but it does at least make me wonder.  The whole business model seems to be quite skewed from the golden age, and apparently not in a good way.

 

a dork’s life

The wifey sent me an instant message yesterday.  ”Want to foster a litter of kittens?” it read.  I answered: “Yes dammit, tell them yes quickly before I can change my mind.”  Thus six kittens, about 11 days old, have taken up residence in our basement.  Not exactly the tenants I had envisioned after our basement remodel.

A few years ago the wifey volunteered us to be a foster house for dogs or cats that need outside homes.  Kittens are typically what we get.  This is not our first foster litter.  In fact, our house cat, Kitty McGee, was a part of the first batch of cats we fostered.  I must say, there is a certain extra bit of joy I feel at the idea of spending Christmas in Montana and having six kittens pouncing around the house.

If any of you dorkders out there are thinking of adopting a shelter cat, I can attest that our experience has been stellar.  Kitty McGee is a pretty cool cat.  When we walk over to the high school practice field to throw the ball for the dogs, Kitty McGee goes with us.  

A police officer watched us going through the parking lot one day and hollered out his window at the wifey: “Is that your cat too?”  When she answered in the affirmative he said: “I don’t see that everyday.”

In warmer weather McGee sometimes joins us on the field by climbing the ten foot chain-link fence that separates the field from our back yard.  It is amazing to watch him place his paws in the links and climb on up as if it were no more difficult than a ladder.

 

guest column:

A reader of Somedork, a dorkder, wrote me an email a few days ago.  Little did he know, he has been drafted to be the first installment of the Daily Briefing’s guest column feature.  I do not think he’ll mind that I publish his email here, as he sent the same text to the editor of our daily newspaper– who published it.

Here it is in its entirety:

-

Dear Editor:

One good thing the Bush administration did for our country was to teach the American electorate how dangerous it is to vote based on ideology rather than ability to govern. Bush, a self-proclaimed proponent of small government, has presided over enormous increases in the size of the federal government and its debt. The Cato Institute noted that non-defense discretionary spending skyrocketed 28 percent in just the first three years of his presidency; they aptly labeled him the “Mother of All Big Spenders.” Such poor execution has done more harm than good to Mr. Bush’s conservative causes.

-

I have been mulling over doing a feature article on my assessment of the state of the GOP, especially the farther right wing of the party.  This letter touches upon one of the central themes of what I’ve been mulling.  

In a way, the right wing has been betrayed, or at the very least used, by the Bush administration.  There is no doubt the enthusiastic turnout efforts of the right wing served to get Bush elected in 2004.  Karl Rove threw chum into the water and the hard right frenzied Bush into a second term.  Yet other than two pro-life judge appointments, Bush has delivered on almost no promises to his base.  In fact, he is probably the most prominent reason they find themselves with the least amount of political power in about seventy years.  The full throated support of ideology over competence has utterly backfired.

Well stated guest columnist, well stated.

 

politics

The dominant story this week centers around Illinois Governor Rod R. Blagojevich.  This morning federal officers arrested him on the charge of corruption.  Federal wiretaps have him on tape openly soliciting political favors in exchange for an appointment to Obama’s vacated Senate seat.

In my cynical mind, the real news here is the laughable brazenness of the governor.  I come from the view that this sort of negotiation happens all the time for things like a Senate appointment.  That he tried to get favors is not news, that he did so outrageously is.  

To you Democrats out there in the readership, let this serve as a shot across your bow.  You have made a lot of political hay about how corrupt and twisted the GOP politicians have been.  Your own house could use some tending to.  You’re on top at the moment because the Republicans stank worse that you did.  Well, stink is a relative concept.  When you’re on power, your scandals stink worse.  Shore up the ship, or join the GOP at the bottom of the ocean.

 

Thus concludes my first daily briefing.  Here’s to many more.

Dork out.

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Going To Try Something New

I’m going to try out something new with this blog.

I’m calling it Somedork’s Daily Briefing (working title).

The slogan: What you need to know for today in less than five minutes.

So what is this?

A kernel of the idea came from a few news stories that came out last week about the CIA’s daily briefing to the President.  The most famous of these was the one Bush purportedly ignored.  They blipped back on the radar the past few weeks as MSNBC gleefully noted that Obama received seven daily briefings a week while Bush continued to receive six.  Wow, score one for the Democrats there (/sarcasm).

The idea of these CIA daily briefings is to bring whatever intelligence is deemed important to the President’s attention for that given day.  That’s what I’ll be doing here.  Like the Dork Rag there will be a variety of topics whose subject will be determined by their relative buzz level.

The unique twist to this is the “in less than five minutes.” claim.  I just did a reading speed test, and found that the average person reads at about 250 words per minute.  I figured I read at a fairly average pace.  Whenever I read something with the wifey or my brother they wind up sighing and tapping their feet impatiently as they wait for me to catch up so they can turn the page.  I’m happy to report that I read at 350 words per minute, which is slightly above average.  

I used the 250 words per minute as a benchmark for my readership.  What I want is something that people can read on less than 5 minutes.  I want to catch commuters that tune in on the bus via their iPhones.  I want to catch guys on their coffee break at work in the morning, and need their daily fix of the buzz along with their lattés.  This means I need to suppress my natural tendency to extrapolate on tangents as I write.  So I have a hard word cap for my Somedork’s Daily Briefing.  Just like there is a hard word cap for a Twitter post.  For now I’ll set my cap at 1000 words.  I may adjust this mark as time goes on, but it will be my first shot.  In case you were wondering, as you finish this sentence, you’ll have read about 400 words.

Somedork’s Daily Briefing will run on weekdays.  My target is the working stiff who wants a short break from the daily routine.  I’ll continue to post longer, more details features as time allows, but I do pledge to put out a Daily Briefing each weekday.  I envision rolling this out in time for the early morning commute, which means I’ll be putting it together late at night.  That’s good, because that tends to be the time I write my posts.  I’ll include a summary of the day, and some things to look forward to in the day ahead.  

Hopefully as I settle into this routine I’ll be getting feedback from you Dorkders.  I’m going to try a variety of sections and features in the briefings, and I’d like some input on things that work or do not work.

I envision certain days routinely addressing certain topics.  Mondays will inevitably have a portion dedicated to a summary of the weekend.  Conversely Fridays will have a section dedicated to the upcoming weekend.  Wednesdays will possibly have a nod to the middle of the week.

First post will be for tomorrow morning.  Stay tuned.

Dork out.

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I’m Back From Never Leaving

I’ve more or less been on a three week vacation.  I’ve been working part time, other than the Sarah Palin thing, I haven’t been blogging, and I’ve been playing a video game over twenty hours a week.  It was a fine soma vacation, but it has ended.  I look forward to my next one, whenever that may be.

I am going to kick off my first post-downtime article in Dork Rag format.  Notice the excellent use of of a hyphenated word in the previous sentence– sometimes I impress myself.

Politics

So Obama is our next president.  I believe the election to be a major force in my need for a three week break.  I spent a lot of energy doing what I felt was my part to help get him elected.  I remember my dismay in 2004.  Bush had gotten his job back and I felt as if I’d just watched like a shocked bystander at a car accident.  If the Dork is anything, he is a Dork of action.  Such behavior on my part must not be tolerated.  I shamed myself into taking action next election.  This time the opponent was more of a noble soul (McCain is no Bush, sorry Obama fans).  However, I have eased my intense regrets through this blog, and can once again stare into that mirror of self-loathing.  I appreciate those Dorkders that came along for the ride.

No, my ego is not big enough to think I had any real impact on the presidential race.  If I steered one vote toward Obama, I would be most satisfied with my blogging efforts.  These past few months have been about me, and my self-reconciliatory efforts.  Yet, such reconciliation could only be achieved with some hard data that I had an actual audience.  Shouting alone in the forest does not a helping-Obama-win-blog make.  So indeed, my readers– you dorkders –were a necessary part of this.  So, seriously, thank you.

The post election chatter carries an audible huffing by the left about the centrist nature of Obama’s cabinet appointments.  Personally, I am thankful that Obama, unlike Bush, does not heed the shrill cries of his base.  Obama scores a point with the Dork here.  The bases of both parties are mindless ideologues.  We forewarned America, as obnoxious as Rush, Hannity, Coulter et.al. have been these past 15 years, here comes the new wave from the left (may God save your souls Franken, Olbermann, and Maddow).  By not pandering to the Change-zombies, Obama shows he values competence over ideology– something sorely lacking in the presidency these past two decades.

For those of you on the left sniveling about the boring, centrist, old-hat, where’s-the-change nature of Obama’s cabinet, take heart.  Obama is going to have the vision; these troops are going to carry out the vision.  Our past experiences with presidents (George Bush and to an extent Bill Clinton) have shown them to give their secretaries a lot of rope.  Think about that.  Can you imagine George Bush calling the shots ahead of Donald Rumsfeld or Dick Cheney?  He’s on record as stating he does the opposite (”I’m the Decider” quote be damned, Bush is shown in Bob Woodward’s books to yield major decisions to his Secretaries.  Clinton too yielded an appalling amount of decision power to his cabinet members.  Even the Republican hero, Ronald Reagan, yielded almost all governing responsibility to his cabinet– and everyone knew it.  That’s how he survived the Iran-Contra scandal; everyone rightfully believed he hadn’t the foggiest idea what happened in his day-to-day White House.  Obama’s contrast causes a paradigm shift, for lack of a better way to put it.

In one of his refreshingly frequent press conferences, Obama flat out stated that “change comes from me”.  Despite that sounding a tad egotistical, that is a phrase the left can take some hope in.  Obama’s plan is to hire the best of the best of the best and use them to get what he wants.  Obama is not messing around.  He wisely understands that to move your agenda, your change agenda, you must have a team that knows its stuff.  He chose Washington insiders that know how to impose their will on the institutions of government. Think about that.  These are serious political heavyweights– Joe Biden, Rohm Emmanuel, Tom Daschle, Bill Richardson, Robert Gates, and Hillary Clinton.  Neither pundit nor demagogue from either side of the aisle would object to the considerable political respect commanded by these names.

 This is good news if Obama shares your political beliefs.  If you want this country to change, and want Obama’s politics to be realized, he has put together the team that has the best shot at doing just that.  Now, while you bask in that hope, tell me what exactly are Obama’s political beliefs.  I’m being sincere, despite my liking his big picture, there are plenty of finer details where I have no clue where he stands– much more than most of the other politicians that declared for the presidency this year.  If Obama is “the most liberal Senator” as the Far Right would have you believe, then congratulations you Left Wingers, your messiah has arrived.  But don’t go believing the Far Right too much, they are as empty headed as you Left Wingers.

Frankly, I fail to see much radical left in any of Obama’s politics.  Although I am admittedly ignorant of Obama’s politics, I have formed my own opinion, filtered through my keen intellect, my Libertarian pro civil rights values, and my insatiable political appetite.  Take it for what it’s worth (not much).  I see Obama as a centrist.  I use three dimensions to pronounce this judgement.  

First Dimension: Civil Liberty and Social Issues -

Obama toes the centrist line on gay marriage; he’s for civil unions but not for altering the definition of marriage.  

He thinks there should be restrictions on abortion, just a bit broader than the “only in cases of rape and incest” stance.  

He wants to shut down the prison at Guantanamo Bay and stop torture (contrary to what the hard right would have you believe, this is a moderate stance).  

He’s hinted at restoring habeus corpus.  

He’s exhibited a concerning silence on civil liberty watchdog issues like warrantless wiretapping, the Patriot Act, and his desire to restore the Clinton gun ban.

Second Dimension: Economics -  

In light of the ongoing economic collapse, he’s hinting at delaying the repealment of Bush’s tax cuts for the wealthy.  This is in addition to pushing for more aggressive tax cuts for the middle class (immediate, not delayed).  That’s more tax cutty, than Bush ever went, quite right.

He’s hesitant to endorse an unconditional bailout of the Big Three.  Total moderate.

He’s proposing New Deal-esque work programs.  That’s a cornerstone of leftist thinking.

He’s basically demanded there be a new stimulus package right-now-dammit, rather right-wing.

Third Dimension: Foreign Policy

Contrary to right wing propaganda, Obama is far from a dove.  He was against Iraq on the idea that he’s against preemptive war (just like me).  He supports the military action in Afghanistan and wants to see it escalated so it can be won decisively (just like me). 

He does not support direct talks with hostile foreign leaders without preconditions.  Yes, that’s right.  That entire Hillary (and later GOP) line of attack was an unmitigated lie.  Obama’s position is a moderate position, hearkening back to the Reagan / Bush 1.0 administrations.  

Obama understands the value of global consensus building.  He is very much against the unilateral approach of the Bush administration.  He is simply a return to the normal, centrist views on U.S. foreign policy that have dominated both parties for the past century.  The widest oscillation in U.S. foreign policy was the Bush 2.0 administration and Woodrow Wilson administration.  Other than these two mild outliers, U.S. foreign policy has been hawkishness through strong consensus.  

Obama strongly supports the state of Israel.  Only the embarrassingly far left and embarrassingly far right wings exhibit anything but unconditional support for Israel.  

Obama is a hard line nuclear non-proliferationist.  Again, only the most radical members of either the right or left has members claiming indifference to countries like Iran and North Korea gaining access to a nuclear weapon.  Obama’s position is soundly moderate.  Full disclosure here– the Dork finds more than an ounce of sympathy for those of that view.  Honestly, I’d rather not see the crazy regimes in NK and Iran with the bomb.  However, who the hell are we, the only country in the world that has dropped the bomb, and the country with the largest arsenal, to tell the fringe regimes who should and should not have the Big One?  Yes, dammit, I understand that Hiroshima and Nagasaki may have prevented more deaths than they caused.  Yes, I realize that having the largest arsenal also won the Cold War.  But with such understanding and application comes a price, and that is ceding the high ground.  Our country has no right to dictate non-proliferation policy.

Thus I pronounce our new president a Three Degree Moderate.  I literally struggle to come up with any hard left of hard right stance he holds.  So far.  Perhaps he is a radical liberal.  I haven’t seen it yet.  I will keep a hard watch though.  I have a sneaky suspicion that I will loathe a hard left dunce of a president as much as I’ve loathed a far right dunce of a president.

 

Metasite

As previously stated, I harbor no illusions that this little blog had any impact on the election.  Despite that, I am happy that I did my part.  I monitor the metadata of this blog, and some interesting data have come to light.

First is those visitors to this sight that have come in via search engine traffic.  What I mean by that is that I am capable of tracking those that pull up this website from a search result on Google (or any other search engine).  Furthermore, I am able to see what key words the searcher had input into Google (or any other search engine).

I took heart in the fact that I had a lot of hits on these search terms:

joe biden quotes

barak obama harvard transcripts

obama baptism record

palin lose mccain election

obama tax policy myth

obama rumors

obama redistribute wealth

What this means is that people out there on the web were coming to my site as a source of information.  It goes beyond those frequent search hits.

One night I saw a blip of traffic coming from one particular site.  This alone was not unfamiliar.  When I post a link to reddit.com, I often see a 20 hit jolt of traffic.  When I post a comment with a link to this site on Huffington Post or Daily Kos or Digg I’m usually good for about the same.  However I got a similar spike from a site that I’m very sure wasn’t a site I had posted a comment to.

I started getting hits from a site called Saints Report.  Upon further investigation, this site is a forum for New Orleans Saints football fans, and a rather prominent one at that (doing a Google search of “new orleans saints forums” pulls up this site as the first result).  When I clicked back on the referring links, I found that some McCain supporter had posted the “Excuse Me Mr. Obama” viral email to the Saints Report forums.  So, in response to the various questions this email poses, a Saint’s Report forum reader posted a response.  The response contained a link to my site.  This site here, that you’re reading right now.  Yup, I was used as a refutation to a nasty McCain rumor posted on a prominent football team forum.  I know, it’s not that big of a deal, but damn, I’m glowing a tad bit inside.

On the debunking of GOP email attacks vein, I am happy to report with a fair degree of confidence that all three of my debunking viral email posts were viewed by those that helped spread the rumors.  

My first I am fairly certain was viewed because I got a yahoo email link as an “arrived from” to this article.  The unfortunate thing for users of yahoo’s email service is that it has your regional location embedded in their links.  This particular link came from Hawaii.  As I stated in the original post, the email was forwarded to me from my mother.  After I posted the article my mom told me she had sent a link to my article back to the friend of hers that had sent her the viral email.  To my knowledge, my mother (who has lived in Idaho for the last 40 years of her life) has one friend in Hawaii who has strong enough political beliefs to forward her an anti-Obama email.  So the data strongly indicates my mother’s friend, who sent her the viral email, at least read my counter to its assertions.  Of that I can take a degree of satisfaction, whether I convince him or not, at least I was heard.

The same goes for my second debunk, the aforementioned “Excuse Me Mr. Obama” viral email.  This one I am entirely certain the original sender to my mother received.  My ma was kind enough to forward me her reply back upon reading my article.  To be fair, her reply was extremely gracious and kind, and I suspect that we have quite different political views.  Her kind reply almost made me regret the harsh manner in which I tend to project my views– almost.

My final, and in my mind most important, debunk I have a high degree of confidence was viewed.  As you can see from my Feejit sidebar, it is fairly easy to tell the region from which my traffic comes.  Couple that with the fact that the author of my third email is known to my parents personally, and that said author comes from a rural U.S. town, it was trivial to conclude that the hit I got from the author’s hometown was him checking up on my response.  The clincher was that the “from” link was from an AOL email server, and said author had emailed from an AOL address.  However, the author of the email is not why I consider this my most important debunk.

This particular GOP attack was by far the most cerebral of the campaign.  I’m a geek.  I understand intellectual arguments.  When I first became aware of this issue, it has been out there for at least a week.  Being a nerdy political wonk, that pounces on any and every political rumor I can sniff, I was concerned.  This had started in the final two weeks of the race, about at the point where I had hit a wall in my daily research, and had pretty much checked out of the daily rumor scene.  Woe is me.  When I began to investigate this attack it was out of the news cycle, but it was pervasive.  

After a deal of effort I managed complete understanding and my conclusion was that this was by far the most sophisticated attack the McCain campaign had launched.  The Obama is a “redistributor” line played very well to the moderates that were hesitant to embrace outright socialism.  Heck, if Obama truly espoused the beliefs claimed in the email, there is no way in hell I would have voted for him.  This idea had such penetration that in the online game that I play (World of Warcraft) I had players whispering me to Google the Obama-radio-show-redistribute-wealth thing. 

I did indeed Google it and I saw a massive amount of right wing pseduo-academic-ego-driven-horse-shit sites all agog with this theory (basically just like Somedork, only pro-McCain).  The radio show was a terribly damning piece of Obama’s “true agenda”.  So this hit home for me.  Here were my peers, just on the McCain side, all-a-tizzy with some academic parsing of Obama’s true intentions.  Thankfully after some exhaustive grilling of my friends in the legal profession and googling of Constitutional thinking, I was able to comfortably conclude that Obama pretty much espoused the opposite of what his viral detractors decried.

Every time an “obama redistribute wealth” search-from link hit this site I did a little jig inside.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t a little jig.  And it probably wasn’t just confined to inside.  I did a Kirk Gibson fist pump every damn time I got one of those search hits.  My “truth” was out there, fighting massive number of posts to the contrary.  

All this proved cathartic.  It felt that every unanswered Kerry attack in 2004 was personally being answered by me in 2008.  Little use it did.  McCain, despite his efforts to the contrary, proved to be a poor Bush stand-in in 2008.   I can only take solace in the apparent repudiation of the GOP brand.  That’s not much comfort for the Dork, who tends to think the far left is just as kooky as the far right and thinks that neither party holds the Constitution in near the degree of reverence they ought to.  

Regardless, I think much of that pining is irrelevant.  Early indications show that we have a president-elect that really intends to right some of the wrongs, and has chosen an all-star team that is going to do just that.  To that I say godspeed.  If the implementation goes too far astray from our Constitution, I’ll be here trying to blog for the effort to fire president Obama.  Boy do I ever hope that I don’t have to do that.  This gets exhausting.

Meme Watch

So I’ll wrap this up with yet another political viral email.  This one I find rather appropriate:

A POEM 

The election is over, the results are now known.

The will of the people has clearly been shown.

We should show by our thoughts and our words and our deeds

that unity is just what our country now needs.

Let’s all get together. Let bitterness pass.

I’ll hug your elephant. You kiss my ass.

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Of Isyd And Honor

Note: What follows is a work of fiction. In light of the new Wrath of the Lich King expansion, I am reproducing select Warcraft short stories I have written over the years. More about this here.

 

The apprentice smith sniffed the air, a look of disgust crossing his homely face. “I smell orc.” he said with disdain.

“Aye.” his master answered behind his bearded, stoic face. “Smells worse than gnome shit.”

Isyd Halforc heard the baiting, and ignored it. She had faced such prejudice her entire life, it merely tempers her honor.

Tempers her honor.

Her mother had said that. Her beatiful, olive skinned mother. An orc refugee, yes, but of a noble soul. She passed on, starving so that her daughter could eat. Isyd learned sacrifice from her mother. Learned that her mother’s honor was indeed tempered; she was a proud, desperate soul. A soul that left Isyd when she was but thirty seasons old. A soul that passed her honor on to her daughter.

“We orcs believe all races of Azeroth have honor, Isyd, child.” her mother had whispered to a crying Isyd. Isyd had run to her, away from the torments of the human children. “You too have honor child. Each race, and even each individual tempers their honor differently. Tempering means to harden, to solidify. Some of us have more tempered honor than others. Orcs are mindful of their honor, it is their life. An honorless orc is worse than dead. Orcs temper their honor through battles and victories. Dwarves temper their honor by exploration and discovery. Gnomes solve puzzles and invent. You Isyd, have your own temper to discover. It will be unique, as you are half orc, half human. But these human children, Isyd, harbor no hatred for them. They are making you more honorable, they are tempering you. You will come out a more noble soul through this process. It tempers your honor.”

“Mother?” Isyd asked, her eyes still wet around the edges.

“Yes child?”

“How do you temper your honor?”

Her mother smiled and drew her close, holding Isyd in a tight hug for a long time.

* * * *

Since she her mother’s death, Isyd had been raised in a human world. Quickly she learned that her mother’s orcish measurements of time were incorrect. Humans counted in a seasons’ cycle– called a year. Isyd was not thirty, she was seven. She was seven and an orc, well, half-orc, but may has well been full. Things would not be easy. The Stormwind Orphanage admitted her. The matrons were kind, almost kind enough not to remind her of her orcish heritage. Almost. Except for the occasional glance of revulsion, or worse, pity. Kindness indeed. With kindness such as this, Isyd needed no taunting from her peers.

But she got that anyway.

Let them insult. I have endured for worse. It tempers my honor.

The taunts were relentless. The human girls of the orphanage started by pushing her into the dirt. When she’d faught back, the matrons assailed her with those looks of pity. Isyd only wanted to pick flowers with the rest of them; they made lovely garlands. Eventually the girls feared her. Then the boys stepped in. When Isyd learned to stand her ground against them, she became considered even more of a freak. Her triumph of spirit served only to alienate her. For every boy she defended herself against, the more of a brute she became. It mattered not that she was the victim. The reward for her physical prowess was social isolation. She was the Halforc, the freak-girl, the ugly monster. The monster that wanted to pick flowers.

* * * *

“What’s wrong with her?” the apprentice smith asked his master.

“Must not understand the human tongue. Orcs can’t learn more than one language.” the master replied, prejudice dripping from his words.

Their words serve to temper my honor.

“Well, I’ll make her understand me!” the apprentice smith hurled the horseshoe he’d been working at Isyd.

The heavy metal shoe struck Isyd on the head, leaving a weeping red smear behind her ear. Swirling red fog clouded Isyd’s vision; she staggered, her footing unstable. Shaking her head a few times cleared the fog, and she observed the hate filled face of a young human.

“Go home orc!” the adolescent snarled and hurled another horseshoe toward the stunned warrior.

Isyd easily ducked the metal object, and her training took over. Quickly her sword found itself in her hand, and her shield rested on her forearm. Upon seeing the warrior draw her arms, the master smith screamed out.

“Attack! Orcs attacking villagers, raise the cry!”

The alarm was picked up, shouts traveled from vendor stall to vendor stall, a wave spreading out from where Isyd stood alone on the road, weapon drawn.

Not knowing where to go, Isyd waited. A good soldier must be patient, and Isyd was certainly a good soldier.

Soon they came, a mounted detachment of Stormwind guards. There were four, clad in white plate armor, visors lowered. Isyd braced herself as they bore down upon her. This was nothing new, she’d faced greater odds in her many battles.

As the foes engaged, Isyd’s battle cry burst from her lungs, startling the horses with its great volume: “I SCREAM, YOU DIE!”.

The horses were well trained, but the bellow of an enraged orc is nearly supernatural in its power. Two of the horses shied away at the last moment, veering away from the awaiting half orc. Another reared up, dumping its rider in the dirt behind it. The fourth failed to startle, and it rider swung his sword down upon Isyd, all the momentum of the charge behind the blade’s downward arc.

A smile found its way upon Isyd’s homely face. This was her purpose, and in the midst of battle, she felt comfortable, content. Her smile was that of satisfaction, similar to that of a farmer’s when he returns home from a long day in the field. Not bothering with her shield, she parried the mighty down stroke, her strong sword arm holding against the incredible force of the blow. The sound of the blades meeting was thunderous, and the mounted soldier’s blade shattered against Isyd’s stronger steel.

Isyd eased into a defensive stance, eyes frantically searching for the next attack. It came down to this then; so be it. Isyd had long since decided her demise would not be a fair one. If it was her fate to die at the hands of four Stormwind guards in a case of mistaken identity, then that was her fate– at least she got to die tempering her honor.

* * * *

Glenfiddich wiped his monocle and gazed into the giant crystal orb on the table in front of him.

“I donnae see anythin’, Tea, lass.”

Tea, furrowed her brow, causing a crease to mar her pretty face. She whispered softly the words of an incantation, and a scene welled into focus within the orb.

“Ahh, thar it is lass, it’s comin’ clearer now.” Glen nodded satisfactorily and put his monocle back in place.

The orb revealed a battle. An orc warrior wench fought alone on a dirt road, surrounded by Stormwind guards. The orc appeared to be wounded, as her battle stance was hunched as she favored her left leg. However, the corpses of the guards piled in a circle around her revealed that, despite her wounds, she was far from defeated. Their fallen brothers making them cautious, the remaining guards, about a dozen, encircled slowly, tightening in on the orc like a noose.

Glen peered closer to the orb, his eyes nearly touching the crystal. “Tea, lass. Ye say this is happenin’ in tha’ present? What I see in here is happenin’ now?”

Tea cast the dwarf a look of pity. “Of course Father, you ought to know that.”

Glen thumped his finger on the orb, nearly knocking it off the table. “Tea lass! Tha’s Isyd! She’s fightin’ tha Stormwind guards this moment! Them foolish guards donnae recognize her!”

Tea’s blue eyes widened as she recognized the half orc in the tightening ring of guards.

“Quick, lass. Get Kalron off his bar stool and get out to tha’ outskirts of town. Stop this fight before Isyd kills anymore of them foolish guards!” Glenfiddich gestured toward the door which led to the common room of the Pig N’ Whistle in Oldtown, Stormwind.

Tea blinked through the door and was gone.

* * * *

Kalron surveyed the battle from the back of his charger. The galloping beast was closing the distance faster than any normal horse, despite carrying both the plate armor clad Kalron and Tea.

The guards had given up slaying Isyd outright, and were content to let her bleed to death from her various wounds. The tactic was working, Isyd was clearly wilting as her life drained onto the road.

Kalron gathered Tea in his arms and vaulted from his charger. He cleared the ring of Stormwind guards surrounding Isyd and landed next to the dying half orc. Isyd snarled and slashed at the paladin. Kalron dodged the sword stroke easily.

“Isyd! It’s me, Kalron. Tea and I are here to stop this madness.” Kalron set Tea down on the road.

Isyd’s eyes flashed in recognition of her two rescuers. A weak smile played across her face. Kalron summoned the Light and mended her bleeding wounds, stabilizing his wounded friend.

Tea immediately began an incantation, speaking magical words forcefully and raising her hands high above her head.

Slowly a shield pushed out from where the three companions stood in the road. Kalron had heard of a similar spell, used by the last Guardian, Medihv, to ward off attackers as he opened the Dark Portal years ago. Tea was casting an extremely difficult spell.

“You’re beautiful when you invoke powerful magic.” Kalron crooned, winking at the mage.

Tea rolled her eyes and continued the spell, the shield pushing outward, forcing the surrounding guards backward.

“Isyd, you sure know how to make an entrance.” Kalron sighed.

“This tempers my honor.” Isyd whispered.

As Kalron eyed the dozen of slain guards, his red goatee framed a wry grin. “Aye, that’s some temper you got lady.”

Isyd surveyed the carnage and began to weep quietly.

“Kalron, ” Tea sighed. “You’re an asshole.”

Kalron nodded in agreement.

* * * *

Glenfiddich looked at General Marcus Jonathan over his pint of ale. “So, General, ye bein’ tha’ captain of them Stormwind guards, I hope ye can see how Isyd meant yer lads no harm. Yer men drew steel on wha’ they thought was an orc warrior, not recognizin’ Isyd fer who she is. A fatal mistake, and most unfortunate.”

The General’s frown deepened. “I understand Father. Most of my men these days are young,– green as a spring field. These poor lads were still crawling when Isyd was emerging as a hero of the Alliance during the war. Most have heard of the glorious story of Isyd Halforc’s Last Stand, but I’ll wager most don’t even know what a half-orc looks like. Some probably don’t realize Isyd still lives.”

“Aye, lad. I grieve with ye for yer fallen lads. From now on I’ll ask Isyd to wear her Alliance war medals in human territory. With those medals she’ll hopfully be recognized fer tha’ great war heroine she is, and na’ a murderous orc warrior.”

The General nodded. “Father, let her know that the Stormwind guard does not hold her responsible for this incident. Isyd’s service to the Alliance is known in Stormwind, and we are greatful for her deeds during the war. Without Isyd Halforc’s sword arm, Stormwind may not be standing this day.”

“Aye lad. Isyd ha’ been cryin’ since Tea stopped tha’ battle. She weeps fer tha’ mothers of these slain sons of Stormwind.”

* * * *

Isyd saw the bouquet of daisies held awkwardly in Pain’s outstretched hand and smiled. She took them from the grizzled warrior and sniffed deeply.

“They’re beautiful.” Isyd stated, delight replacing sorrow in her red-rimmed eyes.

“These maggots know nothing.” Pain stated gruffly. “You welcome war heroes with flowers, not steel.”

Isyd’s smile faded. “Those poor guards I slew. How could I have known Pain? How could I have stopped it?”

Pain shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself Isyd. There is nothing that could have been done. We should have given you an escort, instead of having you arrive alone. The war with the Burning Legion is too far removed for some of these simple commoners. Isyd Halforc’s Last Stand is a folk tale to them, it doesn’t occur to them that the mighty Isyd lives to this day. Not that I blame them.”

“Not that you blame them?” Isyd looked puzzled.

Pain shrugged. “I was there, remember? I was part of the sortie that realized you were still alive, part of the rescue squad that extracted you. Isyd Halforc’s Last Stand– I was there and still can’t believe it.”

Isyd smiled again, her fangs showing. “Neither did the demons. They kept coming and coming, thinking they had me overrun.”

The door to the room opened and Glenfiddich ambled through. “Ahh, Isyd lass, we got i’ sorted out wi’ tha General. Most unfortunate, them lads.”

Isyd sighed. “I meant them no harm.”

“Aye, lass, I know tha.”

Glenfiddich sat down across the table from Isyd. Pain remained standing, arms folded and scowling.

“Lass, ye’ve come a long way, through a lot o’ trouble ta meet wi’ me.” Glenfiddich gestured to Pain. “When Pain told me tha’ Isyd Halforc was tha’ best demon killer he knew, and tha’ ye may be willin’ to fight wi’ us, I asked ye to come.”

Isyd hesitated, then answered the dwarf. “I learned one lesson in the war, and it is how demons work. Once they gain a foothold, you must stamp them out immediately, lest they use that foothold to broaden their power. What only looked like a harmless foothold has suddenly blossomed into a forge base.”

Isyd growled softly. “Father, there is no such thing as an insignificant battle with demons. They must be stamped out immediately, lest we have another war on our hands. So any battle with them, you can count on Isyd Halforc to answer the call to arms. I made my name slaughtering their evil. Demon slaying tempers my honor.”

Glenfiddich grinned and lifted his ever present mug in a toast. “Ahhh, lass, tha’s the answer I was hopin’ ta hear. Know that though, we’ve not got an insignficicant battle ahead of us. We’ve unwittingly freed a powerful foe. Tha’ dread pit lord, former ruler of the Outland, Magtheridon must be destroyed.”

Isyd smiled back. “Certainly Father, count me in on the fun. If you don’t mind, I’ve had a long day. I’m going to retire for the night.”

“Aye, lass, get some shuteye.”

Just before Isyd closed the door behind her, she asked a question. “Father, one more thing.”

“Aye lass?”

“When you inadvertently freed Magtheridon; were you drunk at the time?”

Pain laughed heartily and Isyd knew the answer.

Sphere: Related Content

Pain and Glory

Note: What follows is a work of fiction. In light of the new Wrath of the Lich King expansion, I am reproducing select Warcraft short stories I have written over the years. More about this here.

 

 

Glenfiddich took a deep breath of the briny Theramore air. He tasted salt
on his lips. Overhead seagulls squawked their indignant hunger. It had
been seasons since he’d set foot in Jaina Proudmore’s fortified citadel.
The place had changed little. Regimented marines marched across the
grounds, like forgotten gnomish mechanical constructs. A few vendors
hawked their wares under tents in the open market, but more conspicous
were the rows of empty booths. Theramore lay a forsaken fortress, long
deserted, left with fading memories of its former bustle and importance.
In such an environment dwelled the man Glenfiddich had come to see.

In front of the keep, Glenfiddich stopped, his target found. In the yard
soliders trained, young, raw marines learning their chosen craft. In
front of a line of recruits, a grizzled trainer stood, long silver hair
touching his plate armored shoulders. This was Glenfiddich’s mark, Pain,
an old hero engaged in training rookie warriors.

Pain barked at the recruits before him. “It’s time ya learned to gang up
on one foe. I’ve seen many a two man team get brought down not by their
enemy, but by each other. You’ve got to work together, and not stab each
other in the face.”

Pain pointed toward the line with his broadsword. “Jenkins, Malfour, to
arms. Try and take me together.”

Pain crouched, raising his kite shield and levelling his sword. The two
marines approached him warily. Carefully on approach the trainer from the
front, the other moved to a right flank. Pain continued to instruct,
“Good! You didn’t both try for me from the front.”

Pain kept backing away, forcing the flanking recruit to keep adjusting his
position. “Jenkins, my damn grandmother can flank faster than that and
she’s dead! Move your ass.” The flanking recruit jumped as if he’d been
stung, and closed in rapidly on Pain’s flank, sword lashing forward to
score a hit on his unprotected side. Quicker than an old veteran is
supposed to move, Pain sidestepped the oncoming blade. He reached across
and grabbed Jenkin’s extended arm, pulling him along with his present
forward momentum. The recruit crashed into his fellow assailant, sending
both to the ground in a tangled heap of armored limbs.

“Dammit! When are you mush heads going to learn to ignore your opponent’s
taunts? Jenkins, you allowed me to goad you into a premature strike, and
your haste just killed you and Malfour.

 

 

 

“Right then. Blackstone, Frey, and Fordling, present arms!” Three
marines stepped out of the line, swords readied.

“Now we’re going to see if three of you can overpower one.” Pain turned
and paced off ten strides. Just before he turned back to the line of
recruits, he caught Glenfiddich’s eye and winked. “I’ll start ten paces
back. You three work together, try and bring me down. Try not to slice
each others’ throats. Commence!”

Pain crouched again and raised his shield. The three recruits encircled
him, moving carefully, but quickly, not allowing the instructor to back
his way out of the tightening circle. When his assailants were within a
double arm’s reach of him, Pain sprang into action.

He rushed the frontal assailant, ignoring the lunging reactions of the two on
either of his flanks. His sword slashed down from a high overhand strike,
and the frontal assailant parried his blow effortlessly. As the swords
clanged Pain brought the brim of his shield up under the marine’s gorget.
The marine staggered backward and fell, clutching his severely bruised
trachea, unable to cry out.

The lunge left Pain exposed, and the other recruits took their opening.
The marine on his right thrust hard, sending his sword tip toward Pain’s
side, unprotected now due to his parried overhand strike. Pain avoided
the thrust by following his shield into the recently vacated space in
front of him. However, this did nothing to prevent the strike coming in
from the left, from the third marine. A sharp downward slice caught his
knee. At first it looked like a glancing blow. However, as he turned to
face his flanking foes, Pain’s left leg buckled and he nearly fell.

Shakily Pain raised his shield and brought his sword out in front of him.
He barely put any weight on his left leg. “C’mon ya dogs, try and finish
the job!” he snarled out a challenge, voice strained.

The marine on his left rushed him, knowing that Pain would be unable to
brace himself against his charge. The marine on the right dropped low,
sword point levelled, ready to spit the warrior trainer after the other
recruit’s momentum sent Pain spawling into the blade. At the last moment,
Pain shifted all his weight to his wounded leg and sprang backward,
kicking the charging recruit as he rushed by. Again two recruits
collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“Beware of the soldier who pretends to be wounded, mush heads!”

Pain looked at the two recruits piled up at his feet. Neither was moving.
“Medic!” he yelled.

Glen stepped forward, crossing the distance between he and the soldiers
quickly. The charging marine had impaled himself on the set blade of the
other. He lay on top his comrade, gasping like a fish caught out of water.
The embedded blade seemed to be holding back a tide of blood. The marine
on the bottom appeared unhurt, but was apparently afraid to move for fear
of killing his companion.

“Pain, lad, pull the blade free on my word.” Glenfiddich summoned the
Light, hands balling it up, preparing the prayer of greater heal. “Now,
lad!”

Pain jerked the broadsword free, blood splashed outward, showering the
unharmed recruit. Glen released the prayer, and the wound faded into a
bright pink welt. The no longer mortally wounded marine drew in a sharp, shaky
breath. He rose to his feet, staggered a few steps, dropped to his knees,
and wretched violently.

Pain barked out further orders, “Someone help Blackstone find a mop and
bucket so he can clean up his puke. This session is over, report
tomorrow!”

After the recruits had filed away, Pain’s lined face stretched into a
grin. “What do ya think, old dwarf? Is the future of the Alliance in
good hands with that lot?”

Glenfiddich chuckled. “Aye, if they can survive their trainer, they got
nothin’ ta fear from hordes of demons.”

Pain frowned, eyes glancing to the wet splash of blood on the sparring
ground. “Yes. That was unfortunate. Kid’s got to keep his weight under
him, awful footwork.” He looked back at Glenfiddich. “Say, how about
using those healing powers of yours on my knee.”

“Yer knee? Wasn’t tha’ an act to get tha recruits to charge ye
recklessly?”

Pain chuckled. “Heh, I wish. No, Frey tagged me good. I don’t know how
I was able to spring off of it to avoid Blackstone’s charge.”

Glenfiddich chuckled in turn. “Hah! You told ‘em ta beware of someone
pretendin’ ta be wounded, yet, ye really were wounded!”

“Yes, true, but the point remains, don’t misjudge your foe.”

“Aye. Donnae misjudge yer foe. I wonder, lad. Does tha same apply ta
yer friends?” Glenfiddich touched Pain’s left knee and murmured the
prayer of renew. Pain flexed his knee and put his full weight upon it
with no consequence.

“You’re being coy, old dwarf, something and old sot like you does poorly.
We’re both too old to be less then fully blunt. What are you doing here
in Theramore? Why have you sought me out?”

“Aye, lad. Ye’ve got tha right of it. I’m not here in Theramore fer the
lovely swamp scenery. However, such talk ha’ ignited me thirst. Come
let’s grab a drink.”

* * * * *

Glenfiddich hoisted a mug of ale and drank deeply. “Bah. Even tha’ ale
in this place is only a mere hint of its former glory.”

Pain smiled. “Former glory eh? Just because Proudmore’s fortress is no
longer at the center of the human controlled lands doesn’t mean its glory
is tarnished.”

“Aye, suppose tha’ glory remains. But tha sad truth of tha matter is tha
civilization has left Theramore behind. These marines and knights, if they
want to add to the proud glory of Theramore, must be doin’ so elsewhere.

“Leadin’ ta me question: why does a battle proven hero, a veteran who ha’
stood toe ta toe wi’ Onyxia and Ragnaros, why does this warrior spend
these days in Theramore, bloodyin’ tha’ greenest of recruits?”

Glenfiddich raised a gnarled hand as Pain moved to speak. “Donnae answer
me yet, lad. Let me take a guess. Somethin’ in tha yard caught me
attention. Ye where crafty when ye faked tha’ knee injury, and I’m sure
yer recruits learned a valuable lesson. But, tha’ fact of the matter was,
ye were na’ fakin’, ye were truely almost crippled. Tha’s what’s
happenin’ now.

“Ye sit there before me, ye defend Theramore’s glory, shining bright,
though the attention of the world has moved onward. Ye demonstrate ta’
me, with a wink and taking three opponents at once, tha’ yer as mighty a
warrior as ye ever were. This old sot ought ta’ be satisfied, there’s
nothin’ wrong wi’ Pain, he’s chosen to train recruits in Theramore out of
nobility, not because he’s a broken down has been.

“But tha’ winkin’ and tha’ expert fightin’, they are tha’ same thing as
springin’ off tha’ gimpy knee. Ye are wounded, and wounded sore, and
would ha’ me believe otherwise. I’m a healer lad, ye fooled me in tha’
thick of battle, just like yer recruits, but I’ve seen many a wound in me
many days. The worst of wounds are them that are na’ physical. A gushing
artery is no problem fer the likes of me. I can cure tha’ wi’ a quick
prayer. But tha’ wounds of tha’ spirit, they can kill a man just as sure
as a slash to tha’ throat. I’ve got no prayers fer them but prayers of
faith.

“So look into me eyes, lad. Tell me yer na’ wounded, tha’ everything’s
okay, and I’ll be on me way.”

Pain held Glenfiddich’s gaze, and for a great length was silent. “There’s
no need for you to go anywhere, old dwarf. I see, despite the heavy liver
abuse, your healing skills are still superb. Tell me, from one old
warrior to another, what brings you here?”

Glenfiddich smiled; he understood. “I figured a little battle could be
good fer yer soul. It’s high time ye stood firm, sword and shield ready,
and met tha’ charge of a foe mightier than a Theramore recruit.”

“You have something in mind?”

“Aye, a over bloated demon named Magtheridon.”

Pain’s eyes narrowed. “Why have I heard that name before?”

Glenfiddich shrugged. “Ye get much news from tha’ Outland out here?”

Pain nodded. “Aye, from time to time. Ahhh, yes, that’s right. Someone
accidentally freed an enormous Pit Lord named Magtheridon.”

Glenfiddich tried to look innocent.

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me it was you, old dwarf, that freed this
demon?”

A sheepish grin took form on Glen’s face. “Aye. Kalron and I were tasked
with a reconnaissance…”

Pain’s laughter interrupted Glenfiddich. “Hah! What military commander
in their right mind would send that bumbling pair on a reconnaissance? So,
old dwarf, you’re needing someone to stand in front of this Pit Lord and
help clean up yer mess?”

Glen nodded. “Aye, tha’s about the size of it. Wha’ do ye say lad? These
recruits, they’ll be here for ye when we’re done. How about ye give the
lads a break and come take on someone yer own size?”

Pain nodded his silvered head. “Fine. I’m in.”

Glenfiddich smiled and glasped hands with the old warrior.

“Father Glenfiddich, one more question.”

“Aye, lad?”

“You’re not paying with booze again for this one are you?”

Sphere: Related Content

The Portal Opens

Note: What follows is a work of fiction. In light of the new Wrath of the Lich King expansion, I am reproducing select Warcraft short stories I have written over the years. More about this here.

 

Kalron barged into the room, his battle armor spattered with some unidentified ichor.

Glenfiddich held up a hand, not looking up as his quill continued to write on the parchment in front of him.

Kalron ignored the raised hand. “Tell me you felt that. What the hell is going on? Why is Ironforge in such a panic?”

Glenfiddich smiled and finally looked up at his distraught Champion. “Aye, lad. Looks ta me like ye stopped mid-battle to report back here.”

“Damn right I did. I was out in the Plaguelands, helping the Dawn counteract the polluting cauldrons. It was… like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The Light, simply, simply… ”

“Sneezed? Hiccuped? Belched?” Glen attempted to supply the faltering paladin with the words.

“Yeah. Something like that, but fiercer. You felt it too then. By Uther’s beard, what happened?”

“The Dark Portal re-opened, lad.”

“In the Blasted Lands? Damn. So what, armies of demons are streaming through and have already laid waste to Stormwind? ” Kalron unsheathed his Spinal Reaper. “Let’s go beat ‘em back, no sense swilling beer in this Light-damned pub!”

Glenfiddich chuckled. “Easy lad, ye might take out a wall or two with that axe of yers. There is no demonic invasion yet. My reports tell me the Alliance and Horde have sent troops through the portal, and are establishing a firm line of defense. However, not much is trying to come through, and whatever force of demons there may be, they are not organized enough to clear the small beach head that has gone through. Stormwind and Azeroth are safe fer the time bein’.”

Kalron looked almost disappointed has he returned his Spinal Reaper to its sheath on his back. “Well, what was it that I felt then?”

Glenfiddich shrugged. “Me guess is ye felt the combined power of the exiled, reconnecting with us through the portal. When the portal closed, it stranded many of our folk. Ye know the legends, Khadgar and the like got trapped on the other side. Most likely there were many a priest and a paladin amongst them stranded. Those of us attuned to the Light felt the sudden presence of many other attuned to the Light. Ye know that sensation ye get when yer on tha battlefield and a holy warrior falls in death? Ye can feel the Light claiming its child? Think of it as that in reverse, ye felt the Light acknowledging many new children, all at once.”

Kalron frowned. “So you’re telling me that the world is not about to end, and there is no chance for me to save it?”

“Aye, lad. Sorry, ’bout that. Yer time ta save the world will come, but it isn’t today.”

Kalron sat down, and absent mindedly hoisted one of the pints of ale on Glenfiddich’s desk. “Damn. Can’t you let me down a bit more gently than that, Father? You know how upset I get when I lose a chance to chase some glory.”

“Hah. There, there, lad. Donnae get too glum. This event shall provide ye with new opportunities for glory, though it not be the world-savin’ kind just yet.”

Kalron looked up, a smile broadening across his goateed face. “Really? Are we going?”

“Abosultely, lad! The discovery of The Outland may be the defining event of our generation. It may introduce a threat to Azeroth greater than that of Rangaros himself. We need more information, and we need it now.”

“Excellent. I’ll charge through at once, and establish a forward base of operations.”

“Heh, na’ so fast lad. I’m gonnae be tha one headed through the portal immediately. I need ye to gather up our scattered forces, ye are better suited ta do this than meself. The faster ye do this, the faster ye get ta come through the portal.”

“Bah! You’re just after the glory yourself, dwarf.”

Glenddich smiled. “I would be lyin’ if there wasn’t some truth ta tha’ lad. However, there will be some diplomacy that will need to occur up front. Many a group is jockeyin’ to head to the Outland. I’ve got ta clear our way and establish our place, with the army and with the other organizations headin’ through. I need ta get Completely Smashed positioned, ideally on tha top and in front of tha line. Though ye be my Champion, diplomacy and back room deals are not yer strength. Let me take care of this, lad.”

Kalron nodded, his bushy red eyebrows sunken into a frown. “Fine. Pull rank on me. Who are we bringing over in the first wave?”

“Pry Scarmanthus from his demonic tomes, and have him summon Raade. Tell Beddy ta resign from the Imperial Army. Get Drooga too. Drag Sazerac out of whatever alehouse he’s steeped himself in. I want Undalae there with his core rifle primed. Amyuni must come, poisons a’ready. Picolet, definately, and rouse Malparre. Have ye seen yer brother Gnurl, lately? Get him too. Am I missin’ anyone?”

“That’s our entire powerbase, Father. Dare we risk sending so many?”

“Aye, lad. It is imperative we establish a strong presence in the Outland, the Alliance may need every ounce of strength we can provide. Our neophytes may be all that survive us, but they can charge through tha’ portal when they are strong enough and avenge our deaths.”

* * * * * (weeks pass)

Kalron called the Light down and smote the Fel Orc standing in front of him. The brute sprawled backward, fatally singed by the holy fire.

“Dammit Kalron, lad, here comes another patrol.” Glenfiddich pointed down the long ramparts of the Hellfire Citadel. About an arrow flight away, a group of four Fel Orcs pointed and began charging the two guildmates. “Yer damn judgments may as well be a large beacon in tha’ sky, sayin’ ‘Here we are! Attack us over here!’”.

Kalron grinned. “That’s kinda the idea, priest. The more of these hell spawn I send to their graves, the further I serve the Light.”

Glen sighed and conjured holy shields for both of them. “Donnae suppose ye’d consider a brief respite? We got ramifications of our recent deeds ta ponder.”

“I know what you mean by respite. You plan on heading up to Honor’s Hold, pouring a jug of whiskey into yer gullet, taking many tokes off your Hickory Pipe, and waxing philosophical about the consequences of our freeing Magtheridon.” Kalron crouched into a fighting stance, his Blade of Misfortune pointed toward the oncoming orcs.

“Aye, lad, exactly wha’ I had in mind, ‘cept ye referred to a jug of whiskey in tha’ singular. More than one will be involved.”

As the Fel Orcs fell upon them, screaming their warcries, Glenfiddich closed his eyes and reached out, taking control of the twisted mind of the lead orc. Immediately he directed his host body to turn and embrace a second Fel Orc in a bear hug. The other orc was caught by surprise, and could not react in time as Glenfiddich’s host’s body propelled them off the high ramparts, plummeting both to their deaths.

Glenfiddich released control before his host crashed into the ground, squeamish about experiencing the sensation of such a traumatic fall. Before him, Kalron engaged the remaining two Fel Orcs in close combat, parrying heavy axe blows from each. Glen followed the paladin’s example, and called the Light down upon the closest orc. A blast of holy might smote the orc, causing it to hesitate slightly.

Such a hesitation was fatal in front of the skilled swordsmen Kalron. The paladin lunged forward, his full weight behind the thrust of his Blade of Misfortune. The barbed blade emerged from the back of the orc, the hilt slamming into its chest. Kalron grunted and kicked at the dead orc spitted on his great sword, attempting to quickly extract the blade and bring it back into play. The barb snagged on the armor on its way back through.

The final orc howled in triumph, its tusked maw forming into a wicked grin. The paladin had effectively disarmed himself. The great axe raised high, and crashed down, shearing through Kalron’s Soulforge Spaulders. Kalron’s collar bone burst from his shoulder, and blood sprayed into the air, the orc obviously striking a major artery. Stunned, the paladin dropped to his knees, consciousness slipping away.

As the orc jerked the axe free and readied it in order to finish the paladin, Glenfiddich blared a Psychic Scream, sending the Fel Orc running in a supernatural panic. Immediately Glenfiddich closed his eyes and began the prayer of Greater Heal. He balled the restorative energy of the Light in his hands, kneading it and visualizing the paladin’s muscular shoulder repairing. Quickly the damage reversed itself, the artery closing up, a new collar bone growing into place, and the split skin stitching itself back up– only a jagged scar remained of the once mortal wound.

Kalron, still shocked, staggered to his feet. This time he successfully freed his Blade of Misfortune. The Fel Orc had recovered from Glenfiddich’s scream, and charged again, clearly frustrated that the paladin still lived. The orc’s rage made it careless, and as it raised its axe, Kalron opened its throat with a quick slash. The orc fell, its black blood forming a wide pool across the rampart stonework.

Kalron’s green eyes glared fire at Glenfiddich. “Damn. Now I owe you one, Father.”

“Heh, give me tha’ respite in Honor Hold, and we’ll call it even, lad.”

* * * * * (later that day)

Glenfiddich looked around the table, noting those present. “Where’s Beddy?”

Raade answered him, “She’s leading the assault to retake the stadium from the Horde, sends her regrets.”

Glenfiddich and select members of Completely Smashed were gathered around a table near the fire in the common room of the Honor Hold Inn. The guild members represented the advance party that had forayed into the Outlands. The warlocks, the lovely Raade and the sinister Scarmanthus were present, as was Kalron, the sniper, Undalae, and Glen’s priestly understudy, Sazerac. Also present were the lovely spy, Amyuni, the hardened warrior, Malparre, and the night elf ladies, Picolet the druid and Drooga the warrior.

Glenfiddich grabbed the jug handle and drank deeply of the aged whiskey. “Beddy’s strong suit is fightin’ and not discussin’ strategy, so no harm with her bein’ absent.”

Scarmanthus tugged thoughtfully on his short, pointed beard. “Tell me Fidd, to what do we owe the occasion?”

“We’ve got ourselves a problem. Kalron, brief ‘em on Magtheridon.”

“Magtheridon!” Raade gasped, eyes wide. “You mean the enslaved Pit Lord?”

Kalron chuckled, bemused at Raade’s horror. “Correction, beautiful. The formerly enslaved Pit Lord.”

Raade frowned. “Silly paladin, you know not of what you jest. A freed Magtheridon! Such a monstrosity could destroy Stormwind itself with little effort.”

Kalron frowned in turn. “Ahem. Well, regardless, your illustrious leader, Glenfiddich here, has freed Magtheridon from enslavement. Don’t ask me why he saw fit to do so.”

Glenfiddich roared with laughter, startling all assembled, with the noteable exception of Kalron. “Aye, lad. Ye make it sound as if I did the deed deliberately– and alone. As I seem to recall, ye were right there by me side.”

Kalron glanced at Raade, flushing slightly as she saw her accusatory glance. “Yes, well, I certainly didn’t think sinking my Blade of Misfortune intoKeli’Dan was going to free that foul demon. I usually rely on my wise leader to prevent me from such rash deeds.”

“Aye, wha’ the lad is sayin’ is we accidentally freed the Pit Lord. Force Commander Danath Trollbane here at Honor Hold asked us to investigate the Blood Furnace. Wantin’ ta help out, we entered the Fel Orc lair. In our excursion we encountered Keli’Dan the Breaker, and we were forced ta dispatch him. Little did we know, his death released Magtheridon.”

Raade shook her head. “Trust a priest and a paladin to not understand their meddling with demons. You should have had either Scarmanthus or myself with you, we could have warned you against such foolishness.”

“Aye, Raade, lass. Ye have the right of it.” Glenfiddich reached across the table and filled Raade’s glass with whiskey. “Have yer fill of that ta settle yer concern. Tis better than the comfort Kalron would be wantin’ ta give ye.” The old dwarf winked at the distraught witch. Raade blushed slightly, glancing sidelong at the paladin. She giggled despite herself.

“Good hells, can we keep tha human flirtations out of this?” Undalae rolled his eyes and sighed. “Tell us what’s ta be done, Father.”

“I aim ta fix this misdeed. The solution is simple. I must slay this foul demon– Magtheridon must die.”

Scarmanthus smiled sardonically. “So Fidd, you’re asking us to right your folly?”

“Nothin’ of tha sort lad. As always, everyone is free ta go their own way. But this is me aim, and we must move quickly. If ye want out, state so now.”

Scarmanthus’ smile widened, showing his fine teeth– he looked almost predatory. “Fidd, you mistake me, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Oi, I’m game.” Undalae chimed in.

Around the table it went, no members of Completely Smashed dissenting.

“Amy, lass, it seems ye be wantin’ ta say somethin’?”

“Only, dear uncle, a bit of advice.”

“Aye, lass?”

“When you get such a mission in the future, don’t send a paladin and a priest to do a rogue and a warlocks job.”

Glenfiddich winked at the deadly beauty. “Aye, lass. Kalron and I’ve had enough demon freein’ for a lifetime. Future missions of such ilk be yers.”

The white-beared dwarf raised a glass of whiskey to his assassin and smiled. Amy nodded back, satisfied.