The Maelstrom (part 2)

In their arrogance, the Kaldorei (Darnassian for Children/People of the Stars, aka Night Elves), wielded the power of the Well of Eternity foolishly, summoned demons to Azeroth and destroyed the world as they knew it. The Highborne (Quel'dorei, "Children of Nobel Birth") of the Kaldorei, a privileged few and their queen, Azshara, were presumed destroyed along with their glorious monuments. Their vast cityscapes and beautiful cultural heritage was lost to history... but those who sank beneath the ocean survived.

The Well of Eternity has transformative powers. It turned whatever humanoid race originally dwelt near it into the Night Elves. And when the Night Elves fell to the bottom of the ocean along with the Well, it turned them into a being far more evil, fierce and amphibious than any previous. The Naga. The lingering power of the destroyed Well gave them water-breathing lungs, a serpentine appearance and a ferocious demeanor. Not all the Highborne became Naga, mind you. Some of them survived even the drowning and went on to establish Silvermoon and Quel'Thalas as the High Elves. But those they left behind, the Naga, laid dormant, stewing in their defeat and plotting their reemergence for ten thousand years. This is why I was wary. This is why I did not want them to know I was here, invading their territory.

My original plan was to head straight for the rift and investigate the source of the power I felt surging through the area, but given that a Naga scout may have spotted me, I instead swam toward the northeast to the area known as Pillar Deep. There one can find several fissures spewing gaseous bubbles and many tree-like objects both of which could give me sufficient cover to hide until enough time had passed for the Naga scout to forget about my appearance on the surface and resume his mandatory patrol.

The water in Pillar Deep smelled like sulfur and acid. Breathing water on its own is a slightly unpleasant experience until you get used to it, let alone when it smells like a rotten egg. It was something I was willing to endure, however, for the safety I thought the area would provide. I touched the ocean floor and yawned to equalize the pressure of the water in my system. I was next to a large tree-like structure that seemed to be covered in scales. The top of the tree yawned over out from the center like a palm tree, but instead of leaves they were single thick tentacles. The entire structure weaved and bobbed with the current simulating a palm in high winds in slow motion. Farther out in the distance were some gaseous fissures providing more cover for me. I was sure no one would find me here. At lest... no one I could recognize.

You can imagine it came as a bit of a shock when I realized... the tree had found me.

After the whole ordeal I would eventually come to learn that this creature I was standing behind was called a Tubeworm. And it was, evidentially, very territorial. One of the tentacles that I had thought to be palm branches wrapped itself around me and began attempting to pick me up off the ground. It was very unnerving when I came to the conclusion that these tentacles were something like a group of tongues trying to pull me into the mouth at the very top. I thrashed about, unused to the weightlessness I felt under water. Out of habit, I stupidly cast an Arcane Explosion. This singed the tentacle a bit, but it also alerted the nearby tentacles to the presence of a threat. I now had four tongues licking at me as a delicacy. I thought fast. This time I forwent knee-jerk reactions and cast a spell I should have had ready all along. Blink.

Blink is a wondrous spell when cast by a potent mage. Generally used to escape some sort of movement-impediment, it is shorter in range than a teleport spell, but far quicker - instant, in fact. On rare occasion you may see a confident mage cast Blink into the heart of a battle and cast a spell affecting all enemies in the immediate area. Most of the time this mage is counting on a competent healer to keep him safe while he aggravates the surprised enemies. For the most part, however, Blink is used to get away from danger.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when I opened my eyes to see that I was beyond the gaseous fissures... in plain sight of a troop of Naga scouts. And there was no friendly healer for miles.

The Maelstrom (part 1)

To most it is merely an unending storm in the middle of the Great Sea dividing Kalimdor from the Eastern Kingdoms. Boats and zeppelins go around it and still face a raging sea that some fail to survive. Learning to fly after learning raven form is difficult enough, but it was all I could do to maintain flight through the wind and rain. I finally landed on a small island near the Eye. This would generally be considered a bad idea, but the Maelstrom has been raging for thousands of years. Any kind of brush and rubble that could possibly be blown in my direction has long since escaped the island's shores. The only thing threatening to knock me off my feet onto the hard, smoothed rocks was the wind and the sharp pellets of rain.

I felt stronger. Magic was in no short supply here. I knew immediately that this was because of the Well of Eternity. Millennia ago, the ancient ancestors of the Kaldorei discovered this tremendous source of magical energy. They built an empire around it and almost worshiped it. It wasn't long until such vast use of these energies attracted the Burning Legion and my old friend Sargeras attempted for the first time to enter into our world and destroy it. The ensuing war resulted in the destruction of the Well of Eternity which drew 80% of the land on Azeroth deep into the earth which was then covered by the great waters of the sea that we now know.

In ten thousand years, the raging storm has not stopped. The well has created a rift deep under the ocean. Some believe that the well still exists in some form deep beneath the rift. I know it does. I can feel it. Even here on the surface I can feel its power surging through me. The unending storm is a testament to its omnipotent energy.

It's difficult to focus on casting when the storm rages around you. The incantation must always be precise; a task that is difficult when the wind battles your voice for dominance. But there was no where for me to go on this island. Nowhere on any island in this area. Nowhere but down. And for that I needed a water breathing spell. I spoke the words of power clearly and loudly. My voice felt lost in the wind, but I could feel the power rushing through my lungs, changing them. They were ready to process water.

As I stepped into the tempestuous sea, I caught a brief glance of something in the distance. Far off in the ocean, a serpentine figure slithered into the water. It was no secret that the Naga make their home here, but so close to their home, they are rarely seen at the surface. Were they expecting me? Or was that a lucky scout? I don't usually believe in omens, but when the water was chest-deep and I dove in, gasping a bit to accommodate the circulation of thick water, I thought I saw the ghost of a tortured soul long lost at sea.

The Argent Tournament

At first I was skeptical about the reason for holding a tournament on the Lich King's front doorstep. It seemed diversionary. A step backward from an otherwise (relatively) successful campaign against the Lich King. After observing the activities I can safely say there is nothing to worry about.

Since the dawn of the most primitive civilized races, competition has been at the root of our training for war. When we weren't fighting, we were playing, and playing kept our skills at peak performance. This is what the Argent Tournament seeks to do: keep our skills a their peak while we gain our strength and wait for the Lich King to make a mistake... show a weakness.

Unfortunately, weakness is something he does not allow himself. Even over the Tournament, his shadow hangs. The Black Knight sits ominously in a tent just outside the Horde and Alliance tents. He waits for who-knows-what, gathering information and intimidating contestants. And, apparently, murdering innocent Valiants. He is rumoured to be a part of the Cult of the Damned and evidence links him to the deaths of several Valiants who were set to compete against him in sparring matches. It's like a thick cloud of animosity permeates from his being. He glares everyone down and dares them to challenge him.

The rest of the Tournament area is joyful. Spritely music plays and the people tend to be in good spirits. The competitors learn their mounted combat, which I have no doubt will eventually tie in heavily with their fight against the Lich King. Even though they are in separate tents, the Horde and Alliance coexist peacefully here and prepare themselves together for their common fight. It truly warms the spirit in a land that could freeze your very bones.

What will be the fate of the Black Knight? No doubt some combatant will eventually try and execute him for his crimes. He is of little consequence. I have faith in the good people who both work and play here. My heart warmed, I now return to Dalaran to rest.

Magic and the Addiction Thereto

The following audio clip can be used for many purposes, and I will probably reference it again in the future, but my purpose in this entry is to focus on Mae'Than's defense of magic.

Let me backtrack a bit. Raven form has many boons. For example, I am able to be places where people cannot see me. I am able to spy, if you will, on the happenings of true events. As an example, the deliberations on the induction of the Sin'Dorai into the Horde. When I looked into that particular meeting, I knew it would be an historic event. I therefore recorded it with a magical audio recall spell.

In the following recording, representative Mae'Than of the Sin'Dorai approaches the counsel lead by Cairn Bloodhoof and makes his case for why the Blood Elves should be officially accepted into the Horde.

[Download here]

I think the representative's argument for magic speaks for itself. Magic is, indeed, a powerful force and is something to be wielded wisely. But one should not mistake the use of magic for addiction. Without magic, all life would cease to exist. To take Mae'Than's argument further, there are the same amount of molecules in a dead body as there are in a living body. There is practically no distinction that could possibly be made between the two except that one moves around, thinks, breathes and speaks, while the other merely takes up space. What makes a living body live? Magic.

Magic is the lifeblood of all beings on Azeroth as well as Draenor. Without it, we would cease to be. Just because mages, warlocks and other classes have learned its ways and call upon its force to do increasingly impressive tasks does not mean that they are addicted. It simply means they have been able to use magic as a potent tool.

It is true that after long exposure to great amounts of magic one feels symptoms of withdrawal. But in the same way, when exploring a high mountain one may become dizzy and increasingly fatigued from the lack of oxygen. That does not mean he is addicted to oxygen. Oxygen is just as necessary to life as magic.

I pity the plight of the Blood Elves. After being away from the loving cradle of Karazhan for a while, I, too, feel a sense of fatigue and withdrawal. But we must not allow ourselves to fall into a panic simply because our air has run thin. Such panic introduced Kael'Thas Sunstrider to fel magic which corrupted him and his followers. Remain vigilant and never forget that true magic comes from within. Harnessing such energies is the work of our own will, not that of demons or fallen Erodar. If we remember this, we will have learned the lesson of the Sin'Dorai.

Is Nothing Sacred

It has come to my attention that my mortal enemy (literally, the enemy that was released upon my display of mortality) started bloging long before I started my new journal. Aside from this, Lor'Themar Theron, Regent Lord of Silvermoon, started blogging just today. Though I may disagree with his governing tactics, he does make a fine list of mixed drinks. Finally, the current and most deadly threat to Azeroth, the Lich King, shares his feelings on the Internet as well.

Here's the problem with this: if Sargeras has found his way into the Internet system of earth, it won't be long until he finds the portal that connects it to Azeroth! On the same token, the Lich King may very well be already looking into ways to invade Earth after his conquering Azeroth! And on top of all this, the Regent Lord of Silvermoon will get all of Earth's women (and possibly men) drunk on Mana Potions before he invades in his own special way!

Needless to say, we should all be very concerned.

Medivh's Ravin' Peeps

Vegetable oil (for the pan)
Powdered (confectioner's) sugar
2/3 cup cold water, divided
2 envelopes (2 tablespoons) unflavored gelatin
1 1/3 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup light corn syrup
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Regular sugar for decorating
Tiny amount of melted chocolate for decorating
Bird-shaped cookie cutter
Spell Book
Nethercrystal

Line the bottom and sides of a 13- by 9-inch baking pan with plastic wrap; oil and then generously dust bottom and sides with some powdered sugar.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, place 1/3 cup cold water; sprinkle the gelatin over the surface.

In a heavy saucepan with a tight fitting lid, add sugar, corn syrup, salt, and remaining 1/3 cup water; stir to dissolve sugar. Cover the pan and place over moderately low heat. Remove the cover after 4 to 5 minutes. The steam will have caused any sugar crystals to dissolve and the syrup will be bubbling lightly. Increase the heat to high, insert a candy thermometer, and boil the syrup, without stirring, until it reaches 240 degrees F. Immediately remove from the heat.

Fit a goblin-engineered mixer with a whisk attachment. slowly and carefully pour the syrup into the gelatin while the mixer is beating constantly at medium speed. When all of the syrup has been added, increase the speed to high and whip for approximately 10 minutes until the mixture is lukewarm very white, and the consistency of marshmallow cream. Add the vanilla extract toward the end of mixing.

Pour the marshmallow mixture into the prepared pan; smooth the top and sprinkle liberally with sugar. Let the pan stand, uncovered, at room temperature to dry out. NOTE: Depending on the humidity, this may happen in several hours or take up to 8 hours. Generally speaking the longer you let it set up, the easier the marshmallow sheet will be to cut.

When ready to cut, invert the pan of marshmallow onto a clean cutting surface; remove the plastic wrap and coat the top with sugar (it should adhere easily).

Use cookie cutters to stamp out your peeps and toss them in a bowl of sugar to coat the edges. With a simple levitation spell from your spell book you should be able to form life-like wings. If you find your cookie cutter getting sticky, wash it and lightly coat with vegetable oil.

Take the nethercrystal and crush it into a fine powder. Cast Living Bomb on the pile of netherpowder and place your peeps on the pile. The resulting explosion should coat the peeps with a subtle arcane flavoring as well as blacken the sugar to a raven-like color.

With a toothpick apply a dot of chocolate to form an eye.

Store the marshmallow peeps in an airtight container.

Makes about 80 Ravin' Peeps.

[Medivh's Ravin' Peeps]
Use: Restores 4200 health over 24 sec. Must remain seated while eating. If you spend at least 10 seconds eating you will feel the full effects of Arcane Peep Flavor and gain +10 Int., +500 spell power and improve critical strike rating by 80.

The Peaceful Warchief

Orphan, slave, gladiator, warrior, Warchief; the story of Thrall, son of Durotan, is a story that should never have been, but now that it has, Azeroth will never be the same.

I personally took part in Thrall's story, though at the time I knew little more than that he was the leader of his people. My plan counted on the Orcs moving west and to do that I needed him to lead them there. I knew he was a powerful Shaman, a wise leader and an advocate for the old ways of the Horde. And of course he knew me, if he didn't recognize me at first. I was the one who helped corrupt his people into demonic magic and brought them to Azeroth. But that was before he was even born.

Thrall's father, Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, was one of only a few Orcs who opposed the Orcs' turning to the ways of the warlock after the Shamanistic ancestors cut themselves off from the descending race. Because of this, when the Orcs came to Azeroth, he was exiled to the Alterac Mountains and eventually killed by the forces of Gul'dan. But his newborn Orcling who was to be named Go'el survived the attack.

He was found among the bloodied remains of his parents by Aedelas Blackmoore whose job it was to take the rest of the living Orcs from the Second War and turn them into slaves and gladiators. He named the Orcling Thrall, which was another word for "slave" and trained him as a gladiator with the might of an Orc, but the cunning thought process of a human. Thrall befriended a young woman during his time in the internment camp. After gaining her trust, he expressed his desire to escape. Perhaps she felt sympathy for the Orc, but she provided a distraction while Thrall left Durnholde Keep never to return as a slave again.

He eventually learned of his proud Shamanistic heritage and sought out Grom Hellscream who was considering returning to the ways of the Shaman. Grom taught Thrall the Orcish language and revealed to him his Frostwolf ancestry. Learning this, he traveled to the Alterac Mountains to seek out the Frostwolf clan where he learned that his father had been chieftain. Here he met Drak'thar who taught him Shamanism and initiated him as the first new Shaman after the fall of the Shadow Counsel.

Thrall had now started to become the Orc we know today. He grew in strength with the spirits and the elements and became a living example to the rest of his people that the old ways were once again within their grasp. One day, a stranger came to the Frostwolves and challenged Thrall and his clan for having hidden away in Altrac like cowards. Thrall fought the stranger and bested him, only to find that the stranger revealed himself to be Orgrim Doomhammer, Warchief of the Horde, leader of all Orcs. He had learned of Thrall and wanted to test his strength. Since Thrall had bested him in combat, he made the young Orc his second-in-command.

Orgrim and Thrall then went on to free every Orc that was enslaved in an internment camp. With the spirits on their side and a renewed vigor for the days before the demons' corruption, there was no way the Humans could hold the New Horde. Sadly, as they attacked the last camp, now called Hammerfall, Orgrim Doomhammer fell to a human's blade. This is when Orgrim handed over his armor and his title to Thrall, making Thrall the new Warchief of the Horde. His strategy now was to return to Durnholde Keep, this time as a warrior and a Warchief, dismantle the internment operation from the heart, and kill his former captor with his own hands. Thrall's new army of Orcs took Durnhold and Thrall called upon the spirit of the earth to shake the keep to the ground. It lays to this day as a pile of ruin.

After this victory, it was Thrall's obligation and responsibility to gather the scattered forces of the Horde. This is when I confronted him. Having returned to Azeroth, knowing what would come in its future, I found the Warchief and gave him a vision in his sleep. A vision of a dark future where armies fought and fire rained from the sky. When he awoke, I told him he must leave and find his destiny in Kalimdor.

And so he did. With the help of Jaina Proudmoore and Tyrande Whisperwind, he, the New Horde, the humans under Jaina's command and the Night Elves under Tyrande's command prevented a terrible fate from befalling Azeroth at the battle of Mount Hyjal. Following that battle, Thrall set out to build a new home for the Orcs in the Barrens. He founded a new country named for his father, Durotar, and named its greatest city, Orgrimmar, for the fallen Warchief.

Orgrimmar grew dramatically and since then Thrall has reunited with the native Orcs of his homeland, Draenor, now known as the Outlands. Thrall has done everything in his power to grow the Horde in peace with all his neighboring races, Alliance or otherwise, but old hostilities are not easily forgotten. The Alliance and Horde still war against each other despite Thrall's wishes otherwise.

The peaceful Warchief, the leader with a name that means "slave," the Orc raised by Humans, Thrall is a study in how to rise above arbitrary, unchosen titles to become something more than the sum of the stereotypes against him. He is a quintessential representative of his people who strive to move past the mistakes that lead them to Azeroth and destroyed their home. Thrall's generation has inherited a marked and jaded title, and with his help, they change the world's perspective of an Orc day by day.

Now-a-days, Thrall leads his people wisely, overseeing the movement on Northrend from Orgrimmar and using Twitter to communicate with his followers. I wish the Warchief well and look forward to seeing great victory on the side of the Horde under his command.