Post by Salthair on May 11, 2012 13:48:24 GMT -5
Setting:The Hammer Raid team is about to fight Ultraxion
KERRIG
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those orcs in Durotar
That do no work today;
Or at least their gear and other phat lootz!
SALTHAIR
(In Trollish)
What's he that wishes so?
My brother Kerrig? No, my fair brother;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do the Horde loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, and women, the greater share of honour.
The Ancients' will! I pray thee, wish not one Hammer more.
By The Deep One, I am not covetous for gold, or gear, or phat lootz,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my gold;
It yearns me not if orcs my robes wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my brother, wish not one orc from Durotar.
Skyfather's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man, or woman, more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Kerrig, through my raid team,
That he, or she, which hath no stomach for this fight,
Let him, or her, depart; his, or her, passport shall be made,
And silver for convoy put into his, or her, purse;
We would not die in that man's, or woman's, company
That fears his, or her, fellowship to die with us.
Let him, or her, mark the exit portal well,
And scramble for it when the hour seems darkest.
This day is called the feast of Cairne.
He, or she, that outlives this day, and comes safe home to Orgrimmar,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him, or her, at the name of Cairne.
Those of us that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast our neighbours,
And say “Tomorrow is Saint Cairne.”
Then will he, or she, strip his, or her, sleeve (or, if thou art a Blood Elf Lady Knight, more than just a sleeve), and show his, or her, scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Cairne's day.”
Old orcs forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But you will all remember, with advantages,
What seafood magnifique feasts you did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in your mouths as household words -
Galahad the Brave, Kerrig the Bold,
Pras the Pure, Zicha the Sarcastic,
Blyssful the Impetuous, Tystus the Absent,
Salthair and Tahia, Lionclaw and Nomitoh,
Gorttok and Aldrider, Skinless Pete and Dikasara-
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good orc teach his son;
And Cairne Cairnian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
Which, seriously, could be any minute now,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. And sisters;
For those today that shed their blood with me
Shall be my brothers, or sisters; be they ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle their condition;
And gentle orcs in Durotar now abed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Cairne's day!
ALL NINE RAID MEMBERS
What??
SALTHAIR
(In Orcish)
*Sigh*
Let's jus' go kill dis ting.
ALL NINE RAID MEMBERS
*Shrug*
Okay.
KERRIG
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those orcs in Durotar
That do no work today;
Or at least their gear and other phat lootz!
SALTHAIR
(In Trollish)
What's he that wishes so?
My brother Kerrig? No, my fair brother;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do the Horde loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, and women, the greater share of honour.
The Ancients' will! I pray thee, wish not one Hammer more.
By The Deep One, I am not covetous for gold, or gear, or phat lootz,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my gold;
It yearns me not if orcs my robes wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my brother, wish not one orc from Durotar.
Skyfather's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man, or woman, more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Kerrig, through my raid team,
That he, or she, which hath no stomach for this fight,
Let him, or her, depart; his, or her, passport shall be made,
And silver for convoy put into his, or her, purse;
We would not die in that man's, or woman's, company
That fears his, or her, fellowship to die with us.
Let him, or her, mark the exit portal well,
And scramble for it when the hour seems darkest.
This day is called the feast of Cairne.
He, or she, that outlives this day, and comes safe home to Orgrimmar,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him, or her, at the name of Cairne.
Those of us that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast our neighbours,
And say “Tomorrow is Saint Cairne.”
Then will he, or she, strip his, or her, sleeve (or, if thou art a Blood Elf Lady Knight, more than just a sleeve), and show his, or her, scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Cairne's day.”
Old orcs forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But you will all remember, with advantages,
What seafood magnifique feasts you did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in your mouths as household words -
Galahad the Brave, Kerrig the Bold,
Pras the Pure, Zicha the Sarcastic,
Blyssful the Impetuous, Tystus the Absent,
Salthair and Tahia, Lionclaw and Nomitoh,
Gorttok and Aldrider, Skinless Pete and Dikasara-
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good orc teach his son;
And Cairne Cairnian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
Which, seriously, could be any minute now,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. And sisters;
For those today that shed their blood with me
Shall be my brothers, or sisters; be they ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle their condition;
And gentle orcs in Durotar now abed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Cairne's day!
ALL NINE RAID MEMBERS
What??
SALTHAIR
(In Orcish)
*Sigh*
Let's jus' go kill dis ting.
ALL NINE RAID MEMBERS
*Shrug*
Okay.
