Wardrobes of Draenor @draenordrobe - Tumblr Blog

So in the light of the ridiculous "Titan Dolphin" from the TFIW remake I decided to make "aerocetes" and turn the flish and birds into flying dolphins.

…I hadn’t heard about a new Future Is Wild project, and now I’ve looked it up I’m so so disappointed.

Because the “titan dolphin” makes no anatomical sense.

[source: The Future Is Wild VR]

It appears to have been designed purely for looks, with no real regard for how either dolphins work or just animal anatomy in general. (Or, worse, it looks like somebody drew an “alien dinosaur” concept and then just slapped the “dolphin” ancestry onto it after the fact to try to make it more interesting.)

Why is its vestigial tail fluke vertical instead of horizontal? Why do its teeth seem to go right around the corners of its weird-looking lips? What possible use are such long thin fragile fangs? Why does it have lizard scales? Why is it so lumpy?

And where are its organs? If its legs are derived from forelimbs, then the “body” around them has to be pretty much entirely its ribcage. This thing is literally just the front half of an animal with no space for a digestive system!

No wonder its mouth is stuck open in a perpetual scream.

cheetahtrout

This infuriated me more than it should have, so I gave the titan dolfin my own try at a hopefully more reasonable redesign:

At first I focussed on its bipedality, trying to figure out if it was at all possible. As you stated, the GUTS would prevent it from a dinosaurlike stance. It would constantly fall over backwards, no matter how string the arms where. But What if it didnt turn its tail into a thin useless rope of scales and instead developed its strong muscles further and use it as a third “leg” to stand on. Its fluke growing thicker and more stable, providing additional stabilities to the sides. Thats how I could see it walk bipedaly. Or rather bimanaly. It couldnt run fast. It could throw itself into water real quick, but a cheetahlike chasescene wouldnt be possible. So I guessed it returned to its very early roots and became a herbivore once more, living in water but feasting on land plants like a hippo nowadays. After all, whippomorpha (dolfins and whales) are very closely related to hippos and a little less closely with pigs and even cattle and it wouldnt be the first time a carnovorous lineage became herbivorous again ( looking at you therizinosaurus). I dont know how well a melon would work outside of water. I assume it wouldnt, in wich case I guess the echochamber would become more hollow and turn into a trumpet for the dolfin to create booming calls towards its brethren. As for the dorsal fin…. I have no reason for it. Its purely eastetical, I admit. So anyway. thats my take on the creature. Im still sad they trash this series with such shitty designs, but working on this calmed me down a bit.

alphynix

Oh, that’s a really neat take on it!

I’ve been thinking about how I’d do my own version of a “land dolphin”, too, and I actually ended up taking it in a pretty similar initial direction, using the tail for weight-bearing.

(I just… might have gone a bit weirder with it.)

Their ancestors are dolphins who develop the behavior of driving their prey up onto the shore to catch it, beaching themselves in the process and then wriggling back into the water – similar to the way some modern dolphins beach themselves while hunting fish, along with how orcas hunt sea lions.

They gradually get better and better at maneuvering themselves on the shore, going from flopping to a more sea lion-like bounding motion using strengthened and more flexible flippers and their powerful tails. Instead of just beaching fish they start outright preying on terrestrial animals on the shore, too, in a sort of ambush predator niche.

Eventually they start using their tail as a tripod pseudo-leg, curling it beneath themselves so they can use it to propel themselves forwards. They don’t really run, instead leaping along in an almost frog-like motion to chase terrestrial prey.

They’re still semi-aquatic at this point, spending most of their time lurking in the water, but from here they can become more and more terrestrial.

Their melons reduce because echolocation doesn’t work as well for hunting in air, but they keep the dorsal fins for now as visual display structures. Instead of regaining separate digits their limbs develop tough hoof-like keratinized pads, and they take the vestigial hairs they still develop as embryos and fully grow some sensory whiskers.

They grow some big tusks, too, because they’re bad-tempered pig-like things that like to fight each other.

Then some of them reactivate the genes for body fur, and get kinda hairy, too. They develop elaborate bony crests on their snouts (like a more ridiculous version of some extinct beaked whales), and so their dorsal fins start to become less prominent.

With longer limbs and stronger hooves, they end up as big carnivores somewhat convergent with entelodonts.

…And that’s how I accidentally turned a dolphin into a unicorn. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

frodos-bizarre-adventure

@alphynix @cheetahtrout It would be interesting though what circumstances exactly would be favorable for the evolution of land cetaceans. They did screw around with mammalian anatomy quite a lot, so there should be a minimal number of competitors that could more easily fill “land mammal” niches?

Though if all goes well, and they’re able to re-specialize to a terrestrial lifestyle, there could be a fair amount of diversity that they could attain. Perhaps wallowing hippo-like herbivores or unicorn-like predators as mentioned…or perhaps even a small, omnivorous “raccolphin”…

alphynix

@frodos-bizarre-adventure

I love that raccolphin! I can imagine them being obnoxious little troublemakers, and making up for their lack of grabby hands with some corvid-like tool use.

And, yeah, land dolphins would definitely need a lack of terrestrial competition in their ecosystem, so I figure they’d probably happen in an isolated island ecosystem without any other land mammals.

(That could be a nice parallel to their ancestors, too, since cetaceans are thought to have originated on the Indian subcontinent during a time when it was an “island”, before it had collided with Eurasia.)

tribbetherium

@alphynix

#Spectember is still very far away, but I couldn’t resist going nuts with this concept.

So without further ado:

The Delphinus Archipelago.

An isolated archipelago that arises in the Pacific Ocean an undetermined millions of years in the distant future, the Delphinus Archipelago is soon teeming with life, filled with expanses of grassland, dense forested areas and rich coral reefs around its coastal shallows. An abundance of crustaceans swarm on its beaches, flocks of unique endemic birds settle in its forests and shores, and insects, other arthropods and even small reptiles that rafted onto the archipelago eons ago have now made home in the islands’s rich ecosystem.

However, there were no mammals on the Delphinus Archipelago…save for one VERY unlikely one that had conquered the islands in the lack of competition.

tribbetherium

@alphynix just an updated cladogram.

alphynix

Wow! These are all great, and I love how you managed to fit the basic concepts into such a big and diverse family tree.

draenordrobe

I love this and I think it’s great and super imaginative while still rooted in dolphin anatomy, but... dolphins do have fetal rear limbs. Some are even born with functional rear flippers. Why wouldn’t selection pressure favor terrestrial dolphins with functional hind limbs over time?

None of my yesterdays - Part 3

This is probably the last of this.

Two Days Later

Kyr’s breath burned in his lungs as he panted, sucking in air. His limbs felt impossibly heavy, his tail drooping onto the ground. The Sargerei War Council hadn’t been his goal when he came to Shattrath – they’d just been a fat plum he’d been unable to resist picking. Perhaps too fat. He’d seen the three of them walking near the docks as he cut his way through ogres and imps and shivarra. Three draenei, not eredar, not even particularly fel-touched as was Socrethar. He’d seen them and slid his shield off of his back and then, before he knew what he was about to do, he’d charged into the pack of them. It had been a mistake, and nearly a very costly one. Two of them were powerful arcanists – he had no idea what kind of magic they used, but it had taken all of his skill with sword and shield to keep himself alive, and he’d barely had the ability to press the attack while they summoned floating globes to bedevil him and seared his flesh with raw arcane power. The lone warrior of the three was a skilled, frantic opponent, slashing at any exposed flesh on Kyr’s face and neck with a giant axe. If he were honest, he still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d killed them. One of them, the woman who’d summoned the orbs that exploded and burned around him, he had no idea she’d died until he saw her body under the other’s feet – they were so far gone in service to their demonic overlords that they didn’t even stop to check on her. But knowing he’d made a kill had given him a momentary burst of elation, and with it, he’d driven his sword into the axe-man’s neck, severing the artery in a single stroke. From then it was simple butchery, deflecting the last one’s spells and enduring what he couldn’t deflect, calling upon the Naaru and his own training to endure the pain of the purple lightning she blasted him with. A blow with his shield, followed by a fist across the face to interrupt a spell, and then the last of them dropped dead at his feet from blood loss. He didn’t feel far behind her. Fool. Idiot. You’re here for bigger fish. He looted their corpses, snatching the few coins and trappings of office they carried with them. Everything else had been ruined in the battle. His armor was cracked and seared in a dozen places, chipped and rent by axe blows. And he still hadn’t even found Maladaar. As always, he’d gotten lost on his way to the rendezvous point, turned around by the streets and fountains and other familiar sights of a Shattrath that was gone. It couldn’t be here, and yet it was. He stalked away, towards the shaded nook he remembered as a place where he’d first met Sharel, when they’d both been young. It had served to conceal his mount. Exhausted, he pulled himself up onto his elekk, loving the beast just a little more as she dropped her bulk to allow him to clamber up the side. He rubbed her head, whispered delicately. When he’d first ridden the elekk into Ironforge, his friend Grunor had argued that elekks were ugly beasts. And perhaps they were. But this one’s heart had carried them both from the devastation of Outland to a new world, and never once complained. She was a good beast, and he honored her. They rode together through the ruined streets. A few orcs were trampled under her massive feet, and he made it past their lines and through the barricades set up by the Sha’tar. The sky crystals were defending this forward point as best they were able – tested to destruction by the Iron Horde, now they were pushed nearly as far by the Sargerei who’d swooped in like vultures as soon as the invaders had fallen. Like they’d planned for it. Kyr scowled, as the lift disc descended and he rode onto it. Lately it seemed like every victory had a defeat on the other side. He wanted Socrethar, and it had made him reckless. Reckless men didn’t often survive the consequences of their failure to think. His father’s father’s father had told him that. He had no idea if he was still alive back home or not. He felt a shock of surprise wind through him at the idea that he’d just called Azeroth home. He handed the reins of his elekk to a Sha’tar Defender as they reached the top. “She needs to be fed. She did good work today getting me here.” “Yes, Commander.” If the Sha’tar noted that Kyr was wounded and his armor bore the signs of battle, he didn’t say so. Kyr walked along the platform, hearing the sound of salvaged cannon fire and the sky crystal’s magics clashing in the air around them. His shield kept rattling against his back as he walked, a discordant note.

Exarch Maladaar was waiting for him. “Are you hurt, Commander?” “Not as much as I deserve.” Before Kyr could say more, the Exarch called upon the Light and the lingering wounds from the battle were wiped away by a rush of pure profound rightness, a sense of all being well in the world. It always filled Kyr with a quiet awe, that power that he himself could only touch so imperfectly. Sharel had tried to explain it to him once – Once you believe, the Light fills you. You become a vessel, and the Light takes your shape, flows into all the negative spaces – but it had been as beyond him then as it was now. For a moment her face floated before his eyes, that last day at Karabor. She’d winked at him, her smile unwavering, and turned to charge down the stairs, buying him and the others time to evacuate with her life. He’d wanted so very badly to charge down the stairs, die by her side – but that hadn’t been what she’d asked him to do. No, what she’d asked him was so much harder. Live. Live, and find the Light I know you have in you, Kyr. Share it with our people. “Commander?” The Exarch’s voice brought him back to himself. He looked at Maladaar’s open, honest face and he remembered a madman in the depths of the Auchenai Crypts, a madman who’d lost everyone and everything he’d held dear. Kyr had killed him. His face has been Maladaar’s, his name, his title. Every time he saw this Exarch, there was a moment of confusion, of remembering the awful look of betrayal and loss on the face of the Exarch when Kyr had cut him down. “I’m fine, Exarch. I apologize. You said you had a plan for drawing Socrethar out?” “Yes. It’s rooted in his arrogance. Storming the city proper would be prohibitive – we’d lose more people than we have, even if you brought your whole garrison force here.” Kyr didn’t bother to say that he would do no such thing – his troops were there to defeat the Iron Horde, not pursue his personal vendettas. “But if we kill a few of his key lieutenants, cripple his effectiveness, he’ll have to come forth to deal with us. Since he sold me out to the Iron Horde, he doesn’t respect me, and so he’ll find any challenge from me laughable. All we need are some insignias…” “Like these?” Kyr reached into the pouch at his side and produced the insignias from the Sargerei War Council. “The War Council! How did you…” “I stumbled upon them on the way here.” Kyr smiled, his pointed canines showing. “Got a little ahead of myself, but once again I discover the Light shines in unusual ways.” “Indeed it does.” Maladaar gave him another of those looks, slightly baffled. The quotation was one Vindicators used often, one Sharel had taught him. The Exarch had accepted him mostly because Kyr had helped liberate the man from the Iron Horde prison camp in Tanaan, but he knew that someone as sharp as Maladaar had many, many questions he hadn’t asked yet. Don’t ask, because you don’t want to know the answers. Just keep not looking at the elekk’s ears while you ride her to the party. “So. I will inform Lady Liadrin, and make my way to the base of the city. I would welcome your help, Commander. Socrethar is no easy prey.” “Indeed.” Kyr fought back a surge of hate, remembering that long ago day in the Netherstorm. “I’ll be along shortly. I’m just going to see if I can find someone to help me mend my armor.” “Of course. We have skilled artisans here on the platform.” The Exarch nodded and departed, and Kyr walked over to where a few Sha’tar were standing. One of them nodded as he approached – rumors of the strange Draenei who led an outworlder force to defend a planet none of them had ever heard of had spread. He didn’t like how that felt, how alone he felt surrounded by his own people. They were his people, they were draenei just like him, they were… They didn’t see the steps of Karabor soaked in blood as our children’s heads bounced down the stairs. They didn’t see the Path of Glory, a road made of our dead. They don’t know, they can’t know how bad it can get. They must never know. They must never see that day. He sighed and wished Maraad was still alive. Maraad understood.

Kyr didn’t bother with stealth, or with avoiding the Sargerei as he made his way to the center of the city. He just killed them, singly or in two’s or threes, and a few times in larger packs. None were the challenge the War Council had been – he barely had to break a sweat to dispatch lumbering ogres and fel-crazed orcs. One warlock, he actually threw the orc’s own spell back in his face and watched him burn to death after severing his vocal cords to muffle his screams. It disturbed him that watching the orc writhe and burn and seeing his blood spill down his chest didn’t disturb him. Across the narrow bridge he stalked, walking, as if he were again a young Draenei visiting Talador’s great museum city for the first time. This is what they say Argus was like, Sharel had said to him as she showed him the city. He didn’t know. He’d been born on the Genedar, a rare and beloved child, and even after his parents died he had plenty of people to love him – distant aunts and uncles and many times removed grandsires and dams, cousins innumerable, and even those with no close family tie had treated him like kin. He and the other few children of the Genedar were treasured. Sharel had actually been a few years younger than he was, born on Draenor. For her, it was the homeworld. Argus was a memory handed down by others, stories told of cities like Mac’Aree. It wasn’t a place either of them knew. Perhaps that was a blessing – they couldn’t lament the loss of what they’d never known. Distracted by the memory of how she’d told him about the rivers of Argus gleaming even in the dark, listening to the river pass under his feet as he trod the bridge, he almost missed them. But there they were, the Exarch and the Blood Elf. Kyr had actually traveled through the portal alongside Liadrin, had seen her as he and others from the Shattered Sun had pushed back Kil’jaeden himself. He spared her a nod that she returned. “Are we prepared?” “Yes, Exarch.” Liadrin spoke. Kyr merely nodded, sweating beneath his helmet. He drew his sword and shield and readied himself. He’d brought a very specific sword to kill Socrethar with. It was a fearsome thing, squarish and crackling with red fury constrained by a white border, and he didn’t use it often, didn’t like the way it thrummed in his hand. But for Socrethar he’d use it. Maladaar threw the banner, with the insignia of the War Council members studded in the fabric. An ancient tradition, dating back to when all Eredar were one people, living on Argus, their civilization a wonder wrought by their own hands and minds. Socrethar twisted the air itself to step forth. For all his posturing, his books of instruction, his knee bending to the Legion, he couldn’t bear such an insult. He towered over them, many times larger than even the largest Draenei, his massive features sardonic and hateful. His eyes swept from Maladaar to Liadrin before alighting on Kyr, and then widening. Kyr saluted him with the sword in his hand. “How do you… how can you hold that sword?” “This?” Kyr looked at the blade as if he’d never noticed it. “Oh, right. I suppose your demon masters told you it was unique, forged in the heart of a dying star.” He chuckled. “I took it off the corpse of an arrogant eredar bastard who was stupid enough to believe what a demon told him. I’ve wanted a matching set for a while, actually.” Socrethar wanted to posture, to hurl defiance, but for just that moment he’d been so shocked that Liadrin and Maladaar saw their opportunities and took them. Distracted by Kyr, the would-be eredar didn’t see their action until Maladaar blasted him with the Light, while Liadrin whirled her greatsword in an arc that ripped at his twisted crimson flesh. He howled in rage and turned to unleash his magics upon them. Kyr slapped him with the sword. It wasn’t a blow meant to injure, and it didn’t…physically. But to Socrethar’s pride the blow was devastating, pure outrage in a single gesture. The demon lord turned and swing his grotesquely enlarged hand to try and cut Kyr in half with his Sun Eater. Kyr parried the blow with his own Sun Eater, essentially the same sword, which he’d taken from the demon lord’s corpse when he’d killed him in Netherstorm. A different Socrethar, a different sword, and yet the same sword in the same hand, striking in the same way. Kyr didn’t even have to think – he simply repeated the old maneuvers, his muscles trained by years and years of practice. As Maladaar and Liadrin kept attacking the demon, Kyr smashed with his shield, licked the sword out to cut at exposed skin right through the demon’s defenses, and always had an insult or barb ready to keep his focus. “So, you’re the one to take the offer where Velen refused it? You? You’re no triumvir, Socrethar. When they’re done with you you’ll be just another body on the pile. Just another dead Draenei.” “I will be immortal. I’ll use your tongue, your skin to bind the testament I will write, the Legion’s triumph written in…” “Please, enough. I’ve heard it and it was boring then. ‘I’ll live forever I’ll be on the winning side the Legion is irresistable’ – I swear, it’s as if you all want to talk everyone to death.” Kyr wasn’t trying to deal a death blow, merely to goad and irritate. Socrethar was now hurling magic everywhere, and Maladaar erected a shield that Kyr and Liadrin moved into, letting the eredar wear himself out in frantic magic. “Did you notice…” Liadrin indicated her head. “The leg? Yes.” Kyr rolled his neck. “I’ll get him to extend it.” Once Socrethar finally realized he wasn’t going to smash through Maladaar’s barrier with main force, he charged them, seeking to crush them with his massive strength. Kyr took the charge with his shield, blocking much of the impact (the old Aldori shield hummed on his arm) and then stepped to the side and licked out with the sword, catching Socrethar’s hip and sending blood in an arc. Beyond reason, the Eredar raised his led to try and simply trample Kyr. Liadrin stepped forward and drove her greatsword through Socrethar’s calf, then twisted and pulled the blade free and sending the Light forward like a hammer to crash into the hideous wound she’d ripped open. Groaning, Socrethar couldn’t keep from falling forward, all his weight landing on that leg. When he did, Kyr was ready to smash the edge of his shield into the side of the knee, and the demon lord lost his footing entirely, crashing face forward to the ground at their feet. Maladaar took the moment to drive a glowing hammer of pure Light from the sky down into the demon’s prone body. Socrethar groaned, struggled to rise, and fell dead at their feet. Kyr walked over and took the Sun Eater up from his corpse, held it, looked at it. Inside it he could hear the same strange howling riding up his arm as he could the one at his side. Different, and yet the same.

“It is hardly over.” Maladaar said later as they rested atop the platform, while the Sky Crystals kept lancing magic at the Sargerei cannon fire. “We dealt them a defeat, but they seem willing to die in droves if need be to hold onto Shattrath. No doubt at Gul’dan’s orders.” “No doubt.” Kyr was leaning his head back against the wall and staring up at the moon. “But he’s dead, at least.” “Where did you get that sword? It seemed to disturb him.” “Like I said, from another poor fool who believed the lies a demon told him.” Kyr stood up. “I think I’m going to celebrate by walking the ramparts. Archenon poros, Exarch.” “Dioniss aca, Commander.” Maladaar was looking at the moon as well. “Before he… well. He and I worked together for years. He wasn’t always wrong. Our people grew complacent. We thought we could hide here forever. He challenged Velen on it, challenged us. Perhaps if we’d listened…” “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps this was his destiny no matter what else would have happened.” Kyr smiled. “But I think a little less complacency is no bad thing, Exarch.” He left Maladaar to his thoughts, walking the platform. Seeing Sha’tar Defenders lead the charge down into the city, the fighting still going on. Wondered what it would take to reclaim Shattrath and what would be waiting to take it from them once the Sargerei were gone. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly stumbled through the large hole of the lift platform, only to be pulled back by a hand on his shoulder. “Watch yourself!” He shook his head to clear it. Well done, Kyr. Defeat a demon lord, then step through a big hole and fall to your death. The hand on his shoulder released him with a bit of a shake. “My apologies, I was just…” “You were just not watching where you were going.” The voice was familiar, and for a horrible second he couldn’t tell if the mad dream was toying with him. But he turned to see… Sharel. In full armor, with a sword on her back. A Vindicator, wearing the Sha’tar colors, with a cross look on her face. Her expression softened somewhat when she saw his face. “Oh. You’re the one who aided the Exarch today. The Draenei from another world.” His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He nodded, hoping his faceplate covered enough of his face. There were other Sha’tar standing near them, looking at him curiously. “We’ve heard stories, but… no one tells us much of anything.” Kyr had no idea who the one speaking to him was, and was so afraid that when he turned to look at him that Sharel would vanish. But she didn’t. She simply stood there, looking at him with the curiosity he remembered, tempered by wariness. And why wouldn’t she be wary of him? “There’s not much to tell. The world the Iron Horde sought to invade is called Azeroth.” “You’re from this place?” “Not originally.” He took a breath, let it out, let himself focus on the feeling of his chest expanding. “I am as you see me.” “You are maddeningly cryptic, I’ll give you that.” Sharel’s voice, saying words Sharel might have said, from out of Sharel’s face. The mad dream spun around him, threatening to swallow him whole. “Still, you may have just saved Shattrath today. Naluun and I were about to take a few, get a drink, if you’d care to join us. Have to rest when you can, never know when the next push will come.” He thought about it. But not very long. If this is madness, let me be mad forever. “I could drink.”

None of my yesterdays - Part 2

No idea how long this is going to go. There’s at least one more part coming.

Panting, he withdrew the two blades from the dead Draenei’s back and kicked his corpse over. His face hurt from where the blackfire had seared his skin, but he called upon the Naaru’s gift, and his wounds closed over in a burst of light. During the combat, his rage at the Sargerei carried him forward, but afterwards, it was always the same – feeling sick, looking down at the corpse of one of his own people. Each death brings us closer to done. He rifled through the corpse’s belongings. It was a woman this time, and he forced himself not to think of Sharel, of her pride when they made her a Vindicator. The hammer in her hands. She’d needled him, gently, on his own lack of faith, always seeking to bring him into the Light fully. Surely after all we’ve seen and done you must realize the Light is forever with us. He looted the corpse and found the scraps of clothing Modera had told him he would, and completed the disguise. The Sargerei weren’t terribly concerned about someone attempting so direct an approach, because they believed their demonic masters had empowered them. Kyr had seen such ‘empowering’ before, of course, and it ended in a dead world infested with monsters. Monsters that still died if you put a blade into them enough times. Perhaps, in that simple truth, the Light still was with him. His skin tingled where the healing wasn’t quite completed, and he could feel it as he pulled the hood up over his face. Modera had been explicit – her agent, Anchorite Laanda, hadn’t been in contact and she wanted him extracted. That meant sneaking in. Kyr wasn’t a terribly sneaky person by nature. He generally preferred kicking in the door – surprise was a fine weapon, but there were various ways to implement it. He made his way up the hill to the old temple, bowing his head several times and trying to look like he belonged. There had been several armored Sargerei he’d killed on his way in, so he wasn’t worried his own armor would give him away. The worst part was how familiar it all was. Sharel had… Stop thinking about her. She would tell you the same thing. He couldn’t stop, though. He remembered the day. He’d never forgotten it. How could he have? The steps of the Temple awash in blood, Sharel’s hammer glowing as she called upon the Light, bringing it down on orcs. He’d used a crystalline sword then, a draenei weapon, and it had felt impossibly heavy in his hands. He’d been terrified. He still was, sometimes, but Sharel hadn’t been. No, Sharel had never known fear, he didn’t think. The worst part of being there was how almost it was. Or how almost he was. It all looked perfect, it was his memories come to life. The sweep, the proper Draenei architecture (the Exodar tried, but it was a Naaru ship, built to their patterns, and he could never grow comfortable there) with its arches and graceful curves. To see the Sargerei dug in like ticks in an elekk’s ear made him ache, made every breath hurt. He stopped on the way in when he saw an open scroll on a table. It was filled with the usual nonsense. The Legion is our destiny. The Legion will give us life eternal. It spoke of Velen’s great mistake, of how he’d deprived the draenei of the glory of the eredar, of how Socrethar had gained another chance for their people. Kyr had heard it all before. He remembered the first time he’d killed Socrethar. He’d seen first hand what Socrethar’s promise of immortality really meant, how Kaylaan had suffered and died at the man’ari’s word, for nothing. The promise of a revenge that never came. That had been years ago, and yet, it was never going to happen here. He fought back a laugh. The mad dream – ever since he’d stepped through the portal, life was a dream, a series of half-remembered events replaying in front of him. He’d personally killed Socrethar atop the Netherstorm, a place that didn’t even exist here. Now here he was, infiltrating the would be demon lord’s followers in Shadowmoon, a place that should be buried under Gul’dan’s arrogance, yet instead here it was, whole, alive. It was impossible. And yet if Kyr had gone mad, it wasn’t a madness he could force himself from. Seeing children at the Temple of Karabor – living, smiling, laughing children who played moshev under the light of the moons – if this was madness, then let him be mad a while longer. He took the scroll. Someone might want it – insight into Socrethar’s mind, details on his plans. A document of his insanity. Straightening, he made his way past a few casters, one so young he barely looked to be adult at all, his face twisted up in concentration as he called an imp forth to serve him. It would be a mercy to drive a blade into the back of his head, spare him what was coming. But that would be a distraction.

He found signs of a struggle atop the hill, where Laanda was supposed to meet him. There was blood on the ground. No tracker, Kyr still searched the area, found a scroll hidden under a rock nearby. It was an old trick his people had used back in the war he remembered, the one he wanted so desperately to prevent here, and he wondered if Laanda had hit upon it by accident or if one of the Kirin Tor had shown him. He read the scroll. Then he straightened. No more time for delays. Inside the converted old temple (in truth, mostly an observatory, for watching the new stars of a new world, built at the same time as Karabor) he found them. Soulbinder Zamaya stood gloating as an image of her deformed master floated in the air above her, questioning a motionless Laanda. Kyr drew both blades and stepped into the room. “Who-“ Zamaya started, but Socrethar cut her off. “From my unmasking, the outsider.” It was a quiet, calm voice, not a sneer or a cackle. Socrethar could sneer, of course. It seemed required for his position. “Why are you here, outsider?” “I’d hoped to kill you.” The swords in his hands whistled as he spun them. “I’ll have to settle for your pet, I suppose.” “I like that. No pleading with me to reconsider, to come back to the Light.” Socrethar smiled. “Kill him, Zamaya.” He threw himself across the distance and hit Zamaya so hard that she was stunned, but it didn’t last long – it never did with those that had sold themselves to the Legion. Her vitality was unwholesome but profound. She channeled the void itself and hurled it into his chest, searing him through his armor with tendrils of darkness so profound that they leeched away life itself. He’d felt it before. The trick was to let the panic drive you, instead of letting it overwhelm you – he burst into a flurry of strikes, most deflected by the magic seething around her, but not all. He’d taken the blades off of a dreadlord, they were in their way as magical as anything Zamaya could do. The left blade found her heart just as she was about to unleash some further destructive magic upon him, and she stiffened in shock, staring up at him as if she couldn’t understand. He laid her down carefully. In life, she was Sargerei, a monster. In death, she was another of the people gone. Socrethar’s grim double still floated above the room, watching. “This changes nothing. Auchindoun, Shattrath, Karabor – all will burn in the end. Our people are the destined masters of creation.” Kyr didn’t bother to respond. He knew the type, knew how the bragging worked. Instead, he bent to Laanda, who was clinging to life, even as the image of the demon lord vanished. “Here.” Laanda thrust several scrolls into his hands. “From around the camps. Orders. Plans. What they intend. You must get it to Modera.” Kyr took them. Laanda’s body looked broken. Perhaps, if he’d been a Vindicator he could have called on the Light to save the man. Sharel would have done so. But all he had was the Naaru’s gift, and he knew by looking at Laanda’s ruined flesh that it would be fruitless. He bent to lift him and Laanda gently pushed him away. “Don’t be a fool. You’re going to have to fight your way out. Can’t do it carrying me.” A wheeze. “This is as good a place to rest as any. Under the stars, in the arms of the Light. Go. Stop them.” Kyr nodded. It was, after all, why he was there in the first place, dreaming the mad dream. He took the ruined scraps of cloth off, tossed them to the floor and tossed his head to the side, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from where Zamaya had burned him with darkness. It was mostly healed. He pushed the door open and saw the young man from before approaching, alarm on his face. He sighed, raised his blades, and charged. A few slashes, then a blade through the throat before he could chant in ered’ruin, summon anything. Another dead Draenei, another one gone. His path out led through several more of them.

By the time he returned to Modera his armor had been scored and there were several bloodstains to be cleaned. She didn’t look particularly surprised when he told her Laanda was dead, but accepted the scrolls gratefully. “Perhaps now we can get some idea of what their plans are.” “The same as always.” His shoulder hurt, stiff and complaining from a sword strike the armor had barely stopped. “Sell themselves to the Legion, burn everything, pretend what they’ve been given is immortality and not slavery.” “Succinct, but sadly accurate.” Modera looked him over. “Socrethar?” “He was never actually there.” “A shame. It would be a blow to their plans if we decapitated the Sargerei here.” He laughed, mostly out of politeness. Took his leave of Modera, and used one of her mounts to fly back to his garrison, all the while thinking about what was to come next. Where the traitor could be found, and how to end him. Thorn was waiting for him when he arrived. “Here’s the report on today’s missions.” He looked it over, wincing as his shoulder reminded him that it had not liked being hit by a sword. “You look like hell, Commander.” “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He flipped through the report – her usual thorough work – and handed it back. “I’ll come by tomorrow to set up the next round.” “How’d…” “He wasn’t there.” Kyr rumbled despite his best intentions. “We did the Sargerei some damage.” “Well, that’s good, anyway. That pink thing is still here.” “Of course it is.” He took his helmet off, rubbed at his face. “I’m going to ignore it for now. If it directly asks for me, come let me know. Right now I feel like sleep would be welcome for once.”

None of my yesterdays - A Serial

This will get updated as time permits.

“Commander?” He jerked out of sleep at the slight burr of Lieutenant Thorn’s accent. She was from some human nation or another – Arathor? He thought maybe it was Arathor. She was standing in the doorway to his quarters with a concerned look on her face, her eyepatch the most visible detail in the dim light. Having nearly lost his own eye a few times over the years, the sight of it always made him wince. “What time is it?” “Not that you could tell by looking, but it’s dawn, sir.” Thorn, like most Azerothians, found the eternal night of Shadowmoon disturbing. He found it comforting. It brought with it memories. He’d been on board the Genedar, one of the few of his generation, when the craft crashed. There was a joke the humans loved to tell about his people crashing their ships, and he had to admit, there was a little truth to it. Perhaps the problem is that the naaru can’t steer. He scowled to himself. He wasn’t supposed to think that way, but he couldn’t help it. “So what brings you to my quarters, Lieutenant?” “Sir, it’s… there’s a thing wandering around outside, says Khadgar sent it. Said it wants to talk to you.” Thorn was a no nonsense type – she didn’t hold with arcane trickery and ‘things’ and Kyr suspected that given free reign she already would have driven it off. But despite the fact that she and Alexston ran the garrison, he was the commander. It was his decision. “I see.” He sighed and wrapped himself in his blanket as he stood, because he slept naked, always had since childhood. A childhood spent not very far away from where his garrison now stood, and yet, nowhere near it at all. The dim purple sky was visible from his window. “Tell it I’ll be out in a few minutes. I’ll come review the duty roster before I leave.” “Very good, sir.” She snapped off a smart salute, the kind humans gave, and left. To be honest, Kyr had a hard time determining the differences between varieties of human – mistake a native born of Stormwind for a survivor of Lordaeron or Theramore and there would be upset feelings, feathers to unruffled (this was just a saying – as far as he knew humans didn’t have feathers) but to him it was all fairly indecipherable. Thorn’s people – Arathi? Was she Arathi? – had been isolated until recently and had their own customs and beliefs. They could turn into wolf-people. Kyr didn’t know if they could all do that, or just some of them. He flipped open his locker and began the arduous task of readying his armor. If Khadgar wanted his attention, he knew better than to assume it would be for a pleasant discussion.

It took him fifteen minutes to get fully dressed and armored. He’d decided to strap on a shield – lately he felt like the added defense was helpful. In younger days he’d have gone with two large blades, but he was getting slower. His severed leftmost tendril itched, a maddening thing considering that the appendage was gone, he couldn’t scratch it. In a proper military force, one that wasn’t cobbled together out of survivors from a Light-Damned Suicide Mission and those locals willing to cooperate (Kyr was still angry with Khadgar for calling his people natives, and he still wasn’t sure why – perhaps because the Draenei weren’t native to Draenor? Was that splitting too fine a hair?) Kyr would delegate much more than he did. For instance, he’d have found someone else to go find out what the pink thing wanted. “Commander Kyr.” It was pink. It looked like one of those voidwalker demons, but pink. Khadgar had sent a big pink demon to talk to him. He shook his head, already starting to sweat inside his full-face helmet. “I bring you greetings on behalf of Archmage…” “Spit it out.” He didn’t feel much like observing the pleasantries with a pink demon. “Very well. Archmage Khadgar would like you to travel to the region of Shadowmoon Valley know occupied by the Sargerai and meet with his associate, Archmage Modera.” “The Archmage is aware I have a garrison to run and a war effort to coordinate?” He knew he was mostly posturing. Thorn and Alexston ran the garrison – all he really had to do was go over what they’d already decided to do. And the war effort for the moment consisted of raids on Blackrock Foundry. Granted, cutting off shipments of weapons was important, but he didn’t really have to go on those raids if he didn’t want to. He simply couldn’t get himself to stop, to sit at a desk and be a good commander. “Archmage Khadgar said to inform you it regards Socrethar.” Kyr stared at the pink demon. For an awful moment he found himself wondering if he could disembowel a floating cloud of pink demon essence or whatever it was. “Tell the Archmage I’ll make my way there as soon as I’ve informed my officers.” He tossed his head from side to side, wishing he was wearing a lighter helment – the spiked metal faceplate of the one he had on always stiffened up his neck. The pink demon cloud thing floated off, doubtlessly already informing Khadgar of the conversation. Kyr walked inside, ringing and clanking as metal rings and plates jostled against one another. Thorn was seated at her desk, and Alexston standing by his drafting table, drawing up plans for further expansion of the garrison. They were ignoring each other so pointedly that he found himself smirking. Ah, to be young and in love again. That lanced a spot he didn’t even realize still could hurt. For a moment Sharel’s face floated in front of his eyes, as it had looked before the orcs came to Karabor. And then as it had looked after. His hand tightened around the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Change of plans.” “Yes, Commander?” Thorn looked up. “See to the roster. Khadgar seems to think we can cut the Sargerai off. I’m heading out after Socrethar.” Thorn merely nodded, used to him coming and going by now. The Alliance had sent him on the mission because he was a battering ram, not a leader – the men followed his orders due to his reputation, but precious few knew him. He diverted to his room, strapped a pair of blue short swords he’d looted off of a Legion demon to his back. Slid the shield on so he could switch to it if needed. Took a deep breath, held it, and remembered again the moment they’d stepped through the portal and found themselves not on Outland, but here. Draenor, undestroyed, undefiled, wild and alive. His life a mad dream ever since.

His way up the side of the plateau had been eventful. He’d been forced to cut down several of the Sargerai, and he’d done it quickly and precisely. They weren’t eredar. They were, like Socrethar, draenei who had chosen to follow the Legion, and he loathed them so much that his hands ached to drop the swords and simply break their necks, rip out their tongues. Kyr didn’t hate the orcs. He didn’t waste much time on them at all, really. He’d killed quite a few of them over the years, but to Kyr, killing an orc was something you did because you had to – because your life and the lives of your people were at stake. Certainly not to be trusted, but he was fine with a live and let live philosophy towards them. Even after they’d become servants of the Legion, he’d seen them more to be pitied than hated – they hadn’t known what the Legion was. Perhaps the draenei could have warned them, explained what liars and manipulators the eredar were. But the Sargerai knew this. They knew what the Legion was, who the eredar were, and they willingly followed in the corrupt footsteps of their distant kin. Killing an orc was a matter of pragmatism – Kyr would do it if he had to. Killing Sargerai threatened the core of his beliefs, because he wanted to kill them, he enjoyed killing them. Once you start enjoying killing, you risk being them. He’d already noticed the stares from a few – Y’rel, Akama, Maladaar. It was bad enough that he was clearly a Draenei, but no one they knew – none of them recognized him. As far as he could tell, on this world he’d never been born, never made the trip from Argus. The long journey, so many worlds found and abandoned, always fleeing the Legion – he didn’t know if he had never existed at all here, or if he’d simply made the wrong choice back on Argus. Was there an eredar with his face somewhere out there, a sneering parody of him that bent the knee to the monsters that had hunted and hounded and… He took another breath, waited for a pack of podlings to pass him by. There wasn’t time for him to indulge himself in his personal brand of existential ennui. He made his way through the darkness, keenly aware of how stealthy he wasn’t, listening to his armor ring as he moved. The draenei here – they knew, of course. They were the same as him, they were the survivors of the long exile. But they didn’t know, they would never know. He hoped they would never know. They didn’t know what he knew, what Maraad had known. How close they’d all come to simply being done. They were never a numerous people, but after the orcs, after Gul’dan and the Path of Glory (a road paved with their corpses) – when Maraad had spoken of wiping out the orcs, Kyr hadn’t thought him mad. Every one of their people who died was one too many, one step closer to utter extinction, to irrelevance and absence. They must never know. He’d wondered if their Velen could see it in his eyes when they’d met. The Prophet had stiffened slightly when he’d met Kyr and Maraad – and now he was dead, and there were no more questions to ask him. He found his way to a small camp on the outskirts of the plateau. Sure enough, there were several Kirin Tor mages and Modera, who he knew from his time in Northrend. She stood there as if utterly unafraid of any possibility of the Sargerai finding her camp. Perhaps she was. He’d seen other Archmages in actions, after all. “Commander, glad you could find us.” He nodded, not quite ready to speak just yet. “So, how much did Khadgar’s pet tell you?” “Just to come find you.” “Of course.” She shook her head. “Well, here’s the basics – we have an agent inside the Sargerai, and we need someone to go in and get him out.”

calamityjon

I wrote an abbreviated version of this on my Twitter the other night, during a fit of insomnia, and immediately felt dumb as hell aboutit because it’s straight-up nerdbait (My evidence for this being that it attracted nerds). Still, I got through Grant Morrison et al’s Multiversity Guidebook and was surprised that some eras, concepts and Elseworlds got their own universes while others didn’t. Obviously, you could put together ohhhh let’s say Infinite Earths from DC’s toybox of alternate realities – I mean, you could have Earth-Super Friends, Earth-Thinly Disguised Eternia, Earth-Angel Love, an alternate earth based on the DoomLink comic from those Target exclusive two-packs they used to sell in the Nineties, and so on and so on – but some of the choices seemed initially either arbitrary or unlikely to me at first look (The pirate-themed Elseworlds get a universe of its own?).

So I let it percolate over the last coupla weeks and here’s the list I cobbled together last night of Worlds I’m Surprised Weren’t Included in Grant Morrison’s Multiversity Guidebook.

No.1 JSA The Liberty Files and No.2 Kal: What is it? Liberty Files recast the Golden Age superheroes of the DCU as colorful pulp characters in a world of deep, grisly espionage. The three volumes of Liberty Files adventures managed the herculean task of recontextualizing the heroes of the 1940s for a contemporary audience without sacrificing their original setting – Liberty Files would have made for a great replacement for an otherwise unaltered Earth-2 and its native Justice Society (And just imagine how great a sequel set in the 1960s and starring pulpy, spy versions of Infinity Inc would have been).

Kal was the beautifully drawn but otherwise pretty daffy retelling of the Superman mythos set in pre-Arthurian times. It’s not the greatest Elseworld, but surely superheroes as Arthurian knights has a lot of built-in appeal. Where might it be hiding? Both the Liberty Files and Kal could fit very neatly into Earth-37, home of Thrillkiller and Twilight

No.3 !mpact/Red Circle and No.4 Milestone What is it? Both imprints published by DC at one time using licensed characters. DC no longer has the rights to the Archie/Red Circle characters and the I dunno what the state of Milestone is except that DC isn’t doing anything with it. Still, rights or no rights, Multiversity has room for a thinly-veiled THUNDER Agents, so why not these worlds? Where might it be hiding? !mpact/Red Circle could easily squeeze into Earth-39, home of the ersatz THUNDER Agents, or for extra meta-cred could make their home on Earth-4 as predecessors to the Charlton heroes (That’s a Watchmen joke, son). Milestone’s characters (or thinly-veiled versions thereof) would make a natural fit for Earth-23, home of President Cal “Superman” Ellis.

No.5 Transilvane What is it? One of the finest inventions of Kirby’s stint on the Jimmy Olsen comic – a miniature world populated with malleable beings whose forms are determined by the movies they’ve watched, and so far what they’ve watched has been monster movies and the western musical Oklahoma! If Bizarro World can be its own universe, surely Transilvane could’ve gotten the same treatment. Where might it be hiding? Transilvane and its denizens would fit very neatly into Earth-13 or the vampire-world of Earth-43)

No.6 Earth-D What is it? A nonviolent, multiethnic Justice League which only appeared – and was destroyed – in the Legends of the DC Universe Crisis on Infinite Earths special. Lacking a specifically Silver Age-style Earth, this could have been a nice fit. Where might it be hiding? Earth-36, home of OmniMan, might be handling the role of being a Silver Age Earth…

No.7 Earth-Eighties What is it? Well, the 1990s and 1970s got their own worlds, why not the Eighties? Jonni Thunder, Jemm Son of Saturn, Thriller, the JLI, El Diablo, and so on … Where might it be hiding? Nowhere…

No.8 The Amalgam Universe What is it? The mashups of Marvel and DC superheroes spurred two major event crossovers. Of course, they couldn’t be straight mashups of Marvel characters without that company’s cooperation, but some slightly reconsidered half-combinations would go a long way towards recapturing the essence of the crossover. Where might it be hiding? Well, there’s a world where DC characters mashup with each other, Earth-32, which is frankly baffling to me.

No.9 Young Justice What is it? When this show debuted on Cartoon Network, it got assigned an Earth of its own in the then-multiversal structure and had Didio claiming that it was planned to play some ambiguous but important role in the mainstream DCU. That never materialized, but for its own virtue, the show managed to mashup up the best of the DCU – Shazam, Fourth World, Milestone, Golden Age Heroes like Zatanna and Red Torpedo – into a singular continuity which appealed greatly to young viewers. Seems a shame to lose it when the Timm-verse gets two different Earths of its own. Where could it be hiding? It could fit pretty neatly on Earth-12, home of the Batman Beyond universe, which would also create an interesting, unique hybrid continuity separate from the cartoons…

No.10 The Time Trapper What is it? I may be misremembering this, but I recall that Morrison once pitched the idea of Legion of Super-Heroes baddie the Time Trapper being a rogue, sentient alternate universe which continually rewrote its own continuity, and then this idea worked its way into Johns’ Legion of 3 Worlds. It would’ve fit a lot of Morrison’s recurring themes to have made one of his universes a predatory entity. Where might it be hiding? Well, there’s seven mystery worlds …

Those’re my ten, and I cut out quite a few that had otherwise occurred to me. If you have any additional ones, go nuts – I’m curious what realities others would have most liked to have seen pop up in the book.

Hi, people who are following me suddenly. Probably cause I linked to this site in The Queue - this is the new Draenei model, male (I have a female Draenei and we'll be working on sets for her) with the final iteration of my black and red plate armor.

I'll have more stuff up soon.

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I think this is because I came up during original raiding, when you needed a variable amount of tanks for every fight, and you could easily have four or five tanks on trash but only two (or even just one) for some boss fights. So I got used to two things.

Tanking arms or fury spec. EVERYONE tanked arms or fury…

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See, I’m actually not a huge fan of complaining. It’s not terribly productive. It doesn’t fix problems. I try to never list a problem with the warrior class without making some sort of suggestion. This is in a big part why I hate Colossus Smash so much – it creates a problem that is only a problem for some players (and clearly not for Blizzard, who have said they likethe burst window effect of…

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The completed Siege of Orgrimmar Tier 16 DK lookalike set on a warrior.

Adjusting to tanking - first week in Heroic SoO

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So our first two nights in heroic SoO with me as a tank are over, and they weren’t toobad. I relied pretty heavily on advice from the other tank (he’s been our guild’s official off-tank for a while, so he’d seen and tanked more of it than I have) but in general there were only two fights I felt like I did poorly on – Heroic Norushen and Heroic Iron Juggernaut. Iron Juggernaut was just a matter…

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Allright. Been an absolutely terrible month for me personally so far (looking at a 2k bill I have no way to pay) so I’ve been distracted. So, what’ve I missed so far in terms of Warlords of Draenor?

Draenor Perks. I didn’t mention them. They’re fairly boring – a bunch of abilities will get more damage. A few of them are interesting – Improved Colossus Smash turns CS into a rage generator (similar…

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The Great Yawn - Warriors and the Warlords of Draenor Alpha Patch Notes

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So.

Whole lot of nothing there, huh?

Yes, I’m talking about the Warlords of Draenor alpha patch notes. Or more to the point, the “We took away your means to generate rage outside of one attack on a cooldown between 4 and 6 seconds, hope you like leveling without any control over that.”Seriously, as these patch notes stand (and yes, I’m aware they are Alpha patch notes and thus not finalized)…

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A dissection of the Reaper of Souls story and its impact on Diablo III's lore

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Okay, if you ever read my old semi defunct blog over here, you’ll know that I wrote a thing about the gnostic overtones of Diablo III. Just like that post, this post is absolutely chock full of spoilers. I am going to spoil the ever loving crap out of Reaper of Souls and I don’t want to hear any complaints about it. I’m warning you right here, right now.

If you do not want to read plot details for

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The last time I seriously MT’d in Mists of Pandariawas in Tier 14 content. So now that I’m trying to get ready to go prot full time again for at least a month (our guild’s MT is taking a month off and we’re looking at several other players taking off due to RL and burnout( one of the biggest things I’m having to do is relearn the tanking mindset. Frankly, I think I might skip relearning the way I

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A brief post explaining where I've been and asking for some advice

A brief post explaining where I’ve been and asking for some advice

So first up, my PSU blew up. Big bang, spark, dead computer. Hopefully not permanently dead, but yeah, no computer for me. This is why it’s taken so long for comments to be approved and why there’s been no posts here this week. If you want to donate to my ‘get a better computer’ fund, well, the PayPal link is down there on the sidebar. But don’t worry about it if you can’t or don’t want to, I’m…

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Comparing the Diablo III barbarian and the World of Warcraft Warrior

You knew this was coming. I wrote a post back when Diablo III came out arguing that the warrior could learn a lot from the barbarian. We’re almost two years later, and we didn’t learn enough from them when Mists of Pandariaput warriors on a similar system – rage generators and rage spenders working in (at least conceptually) much the same way as D3′s barbarian and his fury get and spend moves.…

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