Crystalis's book club: Mount Hyjal and Illidan's Gift.

The major problem with night elves is that, up until recently, they were immortal. Not that there's anything wrong with immortality, per se, it just doesn't make for great literature. When you're going to live for an infinity kabillion years, you don't mind setting aside a decade or two to read a book. Night elf authors were happy to oblige. What might show up as a racy cartoon in a dwarven magazine would be a 9,000-page monologue in a night elf comic book. Now the night elves don't have that kind of time anymore, so they've had to try to adapt to what we mere mortals might actually consider reading. The result: dry and uninteresting prose. Everything the night elves write ends up sounding like a history book, whether or not it's actually history.

Today's selection is Mount Hyjal and Illdan's Gift, which I found laying around in the Auberdine inn while waiting for a boat. Problem is the damn thing put me to sleep and I ended up missing the boat anyway.

Note that the night elves refer to the group of folks who destroyed the Well of Eternity and blew up the world as "weary heroes". Among other things, that cataclysm allegedly created the continents we know and love today, kick-started the Maelstrom (and thus adding a few hours to our trans-continental travel time as we sail around the magically destructive vortex) and, oh yeah, as an added bonus created the entire race of naga. I guess if you destroy the world and there's nobody left but you and your buddies, you become heroes by default.

Not so long ago the entire noble race of gnomes exploded themselves by trying to fight off a horde of troggs without any aid. After the dust settled they all decided to just go find new, interesting ways to explode themselves and others. Which isn't a credit to my race to be sure, but at least we didn't get mired down in the same kind of emo hornswaggle these pansy night elves are accustomed to.




It's tragedy enough that any elves survived the cataclysm unscathed, Highborne or otherwise. Just goes to prove that the only things left after a magical catastrophe of epic proportions will be elves and roaches.




The elves are complaining that their holy mountain is "fouled by magic"? Sheesh. The mountain where I used to live had been fouled by dwarves for generations. And, more recently, troggs... but that's only a minor improvement.

All night elf texts basically amount to "Magic bad! Grrr!" This Illidan chap is my hero. Man, could you imagine a world without magic? How droll. Oh, and while I'm on the subject, you night elf priests use magic, too. Don't give me that "Elune" baloney either; you guys are a bunch of haughty magic-using hypocrites and everyone knows it. The only reason nobody has pointed out your atrocious double-standard until now is because they all want you to heal them.




Go Illidan! Someone should have told this Malfurion guy a long time ago that the world needs chaos. Order is the bane of existence. If there were no magic to keep everyone on their toes, the whole world would be a terrible beurocratic mess. Try and imagine Stormwind's red tape everywhere you go. With nobody to periodically light the politicians on fire, they might get out of line, yeah?

Wait a minute. Isn't Cenarius supposed to be some kind of druidic demigod? So making a magic pool and stirring up a little bit of chaos is bad, but calling in a favor from your centaur-god buddy to slap your brother in prison for eternity is perfectly okay!? What kind of twisted logic is that?

Now, I'll be the first to admit that the night elf forests are nice places. They've managed to diligently maintain some of the prettiest vacation spots in all of Kalimdor. In fact, if having to put up with this kind of self-glorifying kodo dung is the price I must pay to have purples trees and fresh air, so be it.

As far as being a literary work, I'd say/ Mount Hyjal and Illidan's Gift is about on par with what you'd find in the men's room of a dwarven tavern. Which is to say it's useful for wiping yourself with, but not much else.

Gandalf was a lovable mage. So was Vivi...

...but Crystalis? She's a lovable warlock.

Seriously, what is wrong with you people?

I can see how you people might get a hunter and a druid confused. After all, slightly over 100% of all hunters and druids in the Alliance are night elves, and they both kind of smell like dirty animals. This is because druids spend half their time doing what bears do in the woods, as bears, and hunters never bathe. Also, they each suffer their own adorable kind of identity crisis anyway.

I guess I should be careful or this will just turn into a rant displaying my undying contempt for druids, hunters and night elves. Suffice it to say that I can see why people have trouble telling them apart. The point is, I'm not a mage, you jackass.

Mages are decent enough folks, I guess. They throw fireballs and frostbolts and that's pretty cool, and they can do that nifty thing where they make magic bread. Also I think they can pull rabbits out of hats and turn water into wine or somesuch. There are three basic kinds of mages: fire, frost and purple. The purple ones are my favorite because as I'm sucking all their mana away and Cattnys is whipping the tar out of them, they run around like headless chickens trying to explode me with cute violet-hued fireworks. No mages consort with demons. No mages specialize in shadow magic. (There are shadow priests but now you're just confusing the issue. Shut up.) No mage will ever hand you a healthstone. (No self-respecting warlock would either, but that's neither here nor there.)

Look, I know you guys who come to Darnassus for the one time in your life are eager to get back to the sweltering hell of Ironforge. Hyjal only knows why you're so eager, but there you go. But coming up to me while I'm rearranging all my auctions or dangling some guy off of a Teldrassil branch and asking me for a portal home is insulting. Get it through your skulls: mages port, warlocks summon. Which isn't to say I'd summon your waste of flesh even if I were in Ironforge. I'd just appreciate it if you would at least identify my talents correctly.

I'm out fishing in Azshara the other day, and some unfortunate human lowlife steps up behind me and asks for bread.

"Get lost," I tell him. "You're standing in my oxygen."

"I need bread," he repeats, without so much as a "please" or an offer of payment.

It's at the point where I'm trying to think of a clever way to through this schlub to the nearby nagas without violating my Alliance contract that I realize he thinks I can summon bread for him.

"I'm not a mage, you dingus. Beat it."

"What do you mean you're not a mage? You're a gnome. You're wearing robes. You have a wand. Cut out this nonsense and give me some bread."

"Then how do you explain the imp, genius?" I command Jubjub to come out of his phase shifted state and stand before this unworthy mortal in all his beautiful impish glory. He mutters something in Demonic about the size and condition of the guy's genitalia that makes me snicker.

"That thing looks like a murloc," he says. "They give those out in Ironforge to anyone who a secret password."

Jubjub mutters something that translates roughly into "Oh yeah? Your mom's a murloc!" Let it be known that Jubjub is not well-regarded for his wit, although in this case I believe he is right. No amount of good old fashioned human inbreeding causes the mental deformities this troglodyte must have.

I look him over. He's wearing leather armor and has a sword hanging at his side, but no shield. He's got a little pouch which looks like it's filled with dust of some kind. There's a bow strung up on his back and yet he's not carrying a single arrow. I can see a dagger tucked into his belt.

"Sorry," I tell him, "I don't feed warriors."

"I'm not a warrior, idiot. I'm a rogue."

"You look like a warrior to me."

"Warriors wear mail and plate, you stupid little gnome. I've only got on leather."

"You're not a very good warrior, then. That isn't my problem."

"But I dual weild!" he shrieks.

"Lots of warriors like to switch weapons. Dagger's kind of a weird choice, though. You should invest in something heavier."

"Look," he growls, grabbing the pouch from his belt loop, "these are my poisons. Rogues use poisons. Therefore I am a rogue."

I jangle my own little pouch of magical powders and dusts. "Yeah, I'm an enchanter too. I've got all sorts of glowing sand. What's your point?"

"You mages are all the same!" he shouts, exasperated. "If you cowards had enough guts to get anywhere near a monster, maybe you'd be able to tell the difference between a warrior and a rogue!"

"My, you're certainly getting very angry," I say coolly as I finish packing away my tackle box and mount up on my clockwork rooster. "Rage, to me, suggests warrior."

He shakes his fist at me as I ride off. He shouts after me, "I'm going to tell everyone in my guild how retarded you mages are!"

So, if you're a mage and you're reading this, I apologize. The world-renowned <LeGeOn of DiStRuCtOn> all now believe you are retarded.

This story, of course, is dedicated to every warlock who has had some webbed-toed yokel ask for a buff, and been clever enough to cast Unending Breath. Oh, and while I've got you, stop turning down the magic fairy water mages try to give you by saying "No thanks, I can Life Tap." Just accept it and dump it out when they aren't looking. It makes them feel more useful, and less like they should have been a warlock.

Can you believe what weaklings the Horde are?

I know, I know... I'm a gnome and therefore I'm in the Alliance and I should hate the Horde and blah blah blah. Look. Call it racism, call it patriotism, I have no use for it. As far as I'm concerned, both the Horde and the Alliance are equally useless to me. I doubt my life would have been considerably different had I been born an orc, except I wouldn't have so many conversations with the knees of other people. I guess I wouldn't be on Uncle Sideburns's Winter Festival list either, but that's no big loss.

Point is, I only pay lip service to the Alliance because I know that if I don't I'll be branded an outcast and life would be pretty unbearable for me. Likewise, as an orc I would have to at least behave while the Horde high-ups were watching, or suffer the same fate. Whichever side of the divide you're on, you only have to look at the sad lot of a Skullsplitter Troll or a Defias Human to know what happens to those who shun their race's faction. You probably never noticed because you were too busy murdering them for sweat or bandanas or whatever, but there you have it.

So believe me when I tell you that I have a great deal of contempt for the Alliance and its practices, while at the same time having a great deal of respect for the Horde and their struggle. Politics isn't my game, but I can sit back and look objectively at what's going on.

That said, I'm consistantly amazed at what unbelievable weaklings the Horde are. An entire coalition of races declares war on them and what do they do? They sit back and take it. Need proof? Here you go:

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Barrens. The Barrens is a big empty savanna in central Kalimdor with zebras and giraffes and kodos and stuff, but not a lot else. Oh, unless you count an Alliance flight path.

Seriously, there's this goblin town called Ratchet there, and recently they've opened up a flight path that caters to both Alliance and Horde. This is a double whammy -- not only is the Cartel profiting from an entirely new Alliance service in Horde territory, but they're also skimming profits away from the Horde that once went to the wind rider guys in Camp Taurajo and Crossroads. Why in the world are the Horde allowing this!?

Take a good look: Ratchet is a short march away from Crossroads, one of the most important Horde outposts in Kalimdor. Likewise, it's sandwiched in between Durotar and Mulgore, the two most prominent Horde seats on the continent. In no short terms, these Alliance scumbags are trompin' all over Horde territory right under their noses and nobody is stopping them!

Now I know what you're thinking... Ratchet is neutral ground run by the Steamwheedle Cartel. Gods know once those goblins get their claws (and their gold) into something, it's hard to get rid of them. All I'm saying is, do you think the dwarves would put up with it if some uppity goblins set up a wind rider outpost on the shores of Loch Modan? Of course not, and the dwarves don't even have flying ships to carpet bomb the place if need be.

I doubt Warchief Thrall reads my blog, but in the off chance he does, look big guy, I've got a suggestion for you. Collect about two hundred of your biggest, ugliest orc warriors and send them into Ratchet and tell those gobs to cool it. Slap a cease and desist on them, with an axe or a trebuchet if need be. You've got pasty-skinned Stormwind white boys flying in from who-knows-where, slaughtering your animals, tromping around in your dungeons, and laying siege to your Crossroads. Isn't it bad enough you're already embroiled in a neverending war with a tribe of elves who want to keep you from cutting down trees? The Alliance already thinks you're a joke. Do something about it.