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Commento di pyrannor2012

Twas the Eve before Winter Veil, when all across Azeroth
Not one mob was stirring, not even a Crimson Moth.
The axes and guns by the stovestack were hung,
In delight that Ol' Greatfather soon would be there.

The orclings and troll-kin were snug in their beds,
While nightmares of Deathwing danced in their heads.
And mamma in her plate mail, and I in my cloth,
Had just started diggin' in for some Alterac wrath.

When deep within The Drag, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the Auction House to see what was the matter.
Gemming my epics, I flew like a mage,
Slashed open the shutters and threw up Enrage!

Elune on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of Eversong to objects below.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a battle-scarred sleigh, and eight ragged reindeer.

With a cold-as-ice driver, not some Alliance bother,
but I knew in that moment it must be Greatfather.
More rapid than Wind Riders his coursers they came,
And he screamed, and bellowed, and belittled them by name!

"Now Digsnout! now, Drimsnap! now, Protspec and Vexxer!
On, Contagion! On, Hamstring! on, on Drago and Metzen!
To the top Darnassus! To the bottom of the the 'Forge!
Now rend the Alliance! Rend away! Rend away all!"

As priests that before Al'Akir fly,
When they meet with a Wind Burst, mount to the sky.
So up to the Twin Colossi the festive mounts flew,
With a sleigh full of Smokywood Treats, Feats of Strength and the Greatfather too.

And then, with a shout, I heard on the roof
The tearing and rending of each razor-sharp hoof.
As I drew on my helm, and was turning around,
Through the roof Greatfather came with a bound.

Dressed in festive leathers, from his head to his foot,
And his wraps were all stained with blood and charred soot.
A bundle of sausage and cheese he had flung on his back,
Just like a wretched goblin, just opening his pack.

His nostrils how they flared! his tusks how rotten!
His cheeks were like moss, his nose like au'gratin!
His drooling wide mouth twisted with Orcish brogue,
The grizzled beard of his chin, sickly pale like the snow.

The stump of a gnome he held tight in his maw,
The blood dripping down like a wound from Calder's Bonesaw.
He had a smashed face and a tiny goblin flunkie,
That cowered when he barked, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was gnarled and bent, a right hostile old orc,
And I grimaced when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A glare of his eye and a crack of his neck,
Soon gave me to know he meant no disrespect.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the sabatons, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his fist hard astride of his chest,
And with a "Loktar!", he departed with the rest!

He rushed to his sleigh, to his team gave a roar,
And away they all flew in a mist of red gore.
But I heard him exclaim, with one exultant breath,
"Happy Winter Veil to the Horde, and to the Alliance a slow death!"

-Pyrnanor

Commento di Valle

These nasty little green gnomes surround Metzen the Reindeer and menace him with pitchforks. When you kill the Greench nearby, they run away and let Metzen loose.

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