The Lament of Farmhand Geist: The time when Geist almost died


Hello, friends. It’s me again, Tim. The Geist. Lamenting in the night. I will never forget what happened the day Master brought me home – home to her home, that is. The thing I just told you about?

That’s how it happened. That’s how I scared my Master into never ever again dare to talk to Master. Why … Master even hid behind a curtain, when Master and me came by. Did you know she grew up in Embari?

I certainly did not!

It’s all for the better, you know. Things would be complicated if you got to know your younger self. Especially when you’re old enough to be dead. Master told me that, a bit later, as the peons worked hard to bring our home into order. Our … garrison. Our home. My home … because it’s my Masters home. Though it’s not my real home. Master tried to set me free and that didn’t work. So, friends:

Let me tell you about the time I almost died.

I told you about how we left Halfhill,

I’m sure. Oh yesss … Yesss … I’m ssure … and please forgive my hissing. It’s safer that way. These last few weeks on my masters homeworld has taught me a valuable lessson: Sometimes it’s better to be a Monster. I will tell you why in just a moment, but first – How I Died.

I am Scourge. You need to keep this in mind. I was created in Naxxramas by one or another of Kel’Thuzads minions. I have my “birth certificate”.

In a way my home is in Dragonblight. But honestly – my “father” was not Kel. My Creator was Arthas. So you see my home is in Icecrown. Now … that’s not true at all, of course. My Scourge home is in Icecrown. but my Home is in Teldrassil, and Elwynn, and Dun Morogh, and Durotar, and Mulgore (a joint in my elbow is tauren), and Lordaeron … I am a person of many persons.

I am Legion.

Bringing me home is troublesome. Master would have to dismantle me. Master on’t want to dismantle me. Truly, I don’t want that either – because that would be, well … Death.

A not so funny fact about us Scourge: We don’t want to die. Nothing wants to die. Remember that, next time you go out killing brigand gnolls for the linen cloth.

We spent some time in Stormwind. We decided to play it sae. The Alliance might be in an alliance of conveniance with the Knights of the Ebon Blade, that doesn’t mean we’re welcome to their turf. So Master hid me in a cellar. It’s easy enough to blend into the crowd as a more than usual pale and cold draenei. It’s something completely different if a geist trails behind you, especially one who has never seen a spice market (the smells drove my nose insane!).

People of Stormwind – and yes, their king has said that we stand as one – tend to … flee. Simple as that. Flee – an throw bananas. Funny that. The pandaren of Halfhill was more welcoming to a geist than humans. But that’s how things are, I guess. I once ventured out on the street and the city guard came running. I yelled “Hands up don’t shoot!” but they didn’t listen. A few hundred stitchessorted me out (later on, Master had words with the guards; I don’t think they’ll be able to walk properly ever again).

When Master had some free time from important things like meeting the king or whatnot, she brooded. She just sat there, staring at the wall. I spied on her, I’m sure she knew but she said nothing about it. Every once so often she would come down into the cellar of the Slaughtered Lamb (an inn our adopted human, Sharenne, told us about; “The Lamb can keep a secret”). Then Master would just stared at me. In silence. It was quite unnerving, to tell you the truth, Then oen day, after a few weeks, she said:

“I’m gonna set you free, Tim.”
“But I am free,” I said.
“No, you’re not.” she sighed. “Look, you’re not competent enough to understand what freedom is. You were created to be a slave – you are a slave!”

“But … “I said, but she turned her back on me and left. That made me fear her. She had always listened to me. Well, most of the time. I was afraid. I dared not speak. She told me to get ready for a trip and so I did. What else could I do? I was alone in a city that despised me. If I was to survive … well then!

We traveled in silence. We didn’t speak to each other. Not a single word for weeks on end. I trailed behind her wherever she went and then, weeks later, we stood on a cliff overlooking Icecrown and Master said:

“Go, geist. Go. Those things down there … They’re your people. Go home. I don’t need you anymore.”
“Master don’t … need me?” I said.
“I don’t. Things have changed. Look, it’s complicated, but … I can’t have you around no more. I’m married to the frost. There’s no room for a geist where frost is present.”
“But ..!”
“Go! Take a hike! Fuck off, monster!”

Masters angry words didn’t scare me. It’s simple, it is: Love is simple. If you love someone, you don’t abandon them. So, I honestly don’t know where I got the courage, but I said:

“You don’t love me?”
“I can’t love,” Master said.

I shouldn’t have said the thing I said, but I said it. I said:

“You love Menea.”

For a few seconds her eyes pierced me with a hateful glance. I thought she would use the bullwhip, like that time in Zul’Drak. Instead she sighed and looked out across the frozen wastes and mumbled:

“This is the kingdom of the Scourge, only the dead may enter.”

I dared not say it but I did. I covered in fear in front of her and whispered:

“You are not dead, Master. You are just not alive. Just as us. As me.” I shot a glance across Icecrown, I heard the howling of ghouls out there, all of them praising their new master. The cold, burning, secret master … because there must always be a lich king. “Zavannah, lissen!” I used Masters name. I never do that unless it’s something very important. “Those … things! They’re not my people. They are … automatons.” I stared at her. “You, Master.” I stood up and grabbed her by her collar. “You made me who I am!” I stared my single eye into Masters deadwhite shine. “YOU GAVE ME A LIFE!!!”

My shriek echoed across the mountains. It shook the snow off forgotten peaks. It broke the spell of some Scourge but without a master they soon became confused. Like wild animals in panic those wretched creatures died in a battle they could not win, surrounded by mindless undead listening to a call of a master who just wanted balance.

Master asked me a simple question:
“You are free, geist. Why do you insist on following me?”
I said: “Because I am free!”
“Then go and be free!”

“I will go with you … ” I smiled, even though it didn’t show through my leather mask. “Zavvie.”

So Master just sighed and shrugged, raising her hands halfway in a ‘what can you do, eh?’-gesture. Then we were off, going home. To Draenor and the garrison (I have made a friend there, a cat … catman … yes; anyway, I will tell you about Leo some other time).

Oh … you wonder how I almost died? Why, that’s simple, friends:

Without freedom – you are already dead.

The Lament of Farmhand Geist: The great escape


The screams of the dying vanguard was still ringing in our ears. I remember this: We clamored for a foothold, all of us. Struggling up across a muddy slope, one by one reaching the ridge. Then Shuanna fell back, slipping on mud and loose rocks. She struggled for foothold on that slippery slope when a green hand shot out from the mist and grabbed her wrist. She didn’t have time to protest. One second her feet was slipping on raw, red Draenor mud. The next second she flew upwards as an orc grunted deeply. Then she landed on her knees in front of him. He let go of her wrist and took a step back, looking down on her with a faint smile.

“Almost lost you there, friend,” he said, his eyes still glowing with embers of elemental fire. She looked into his eyes as she stood up. She didn’t sheathe her mace. It was quite a tense moment, you know. Then she said:

“I will never be your friend, orc!”

It is rare to see such hatred in draenei eyes … and that’s when I said (in my hoarse voice; I truly think I saved an orc that day): “Archenon poros, shaman.”

I wonder why some of the freed slaves started to laugh. Well, giggle. You see, all of the above – that’s how I remember it all. They laughed. Even Shuanna laughed, though she didn’t take her burning, angry eyes off Thrall.

Then we were off. She told Vassie later on – who told Master – that she cared not to remember what happened next. I understand. I’m immune to panic, it’s not a thing with us redeemed Scourge. Not much anyway. For the living, well …

The frantic flight through the scattered lines of the Iron Horde, in disarray as their portal fell, was a smattering of screams and explosions. I leaped on the back of an orc with a maddening laugh and tore his face to shreds with sharpened saronite. I saved a woman, I think. She scurried off, badly beaten but still alive.

Master slammed someone out of the way of a wagon full of explosives. Kitty crushed the head of a female orc moments before she broke the jaw on another, furious that they had deprived her of her elemental connections; in that moment Kitty the Shaman became Kitty the Warrior, a terrible storm of steel and rage. Or so she said anyway. Before it happened.

I saw Shuanna call down judgement in brilliant light on one monster after another and yet her brilliance was nothing compared to that of the other draenei hero, Maraad (that the name I’m thinking off? Why … yes … it is …).

I saw Vassie – oh, I never grow tired of watching her (don’t tell!). Back to back with Sharenne, the adopted human, the demon tamer. They were hurting orcs with words of shadow and chaos bolts. I saw our shaman, Savenna, throw the very elemental force that Kitty had lost. Strange that. I don’t know how. Nobody does, I think.

Somewhere in that chaos I even caught a glimpse of the Black Sheep (Master calls Rave that when Master’s angry). Ravennah – dancing around with daggers. It looked terribly dangerous. No one had time to ask her why she was, well, sort of elf like.

Yet … Yet! Death comes in many shapes. Yet, when I watched Master walk, almost casually, through trongs of Iron Horde, they all fell.

They all fell!

For every life taken, Master smiled. For every scream, for every festering wound, I heard her breath deeper, and deeper, and deeper. As she cut down an orc, gutting him from the waist to the chin in a single backhand swing, she moaned. I do believe that killing orcs by the bundle is as close to an orgasm a death knight will ever get. But what do I know? I’m just a geist. I look at the naked pictures in that book that Vassie carries around and all I can think of is … well … what body parts would be useful should I ever dare to use the knowledge I … but never mind.

I have never seen Master so calm, so alive, so happy. She smiled. She grinned. Eventually she killed while laughing, panting, moaning. She went out of her way killing things, backtracking through the throng of fleeing slaves. Not until the wizard, Kadghar, yelled “Get back here, you!”, she came to her senses and made a ‘tactical withdrawal’. I dare say, without Master and me by her side many draenei would have died that day. But we saved them – we saved them all!

Ah yes, we saved them … and you know what? On that forsaken morn’ by the iron docks of Tanaan on an alien yet familiar world, we were vengeance. We were retribution. We were justice. We were Death.

The Exodar Sisters were death. They scared me more than even dread Arthas could ever scare. These … peaceful beings, these happy believers. But then they were remorseless. This was the moment of retribution! Of vengance! They sped through the battlefield and they were covered in orc blood! I had never seen draenei like that … never.


“REMEMBER KARABOR!!!” Vasannah shrieked. It was beyond a battle cry. It was as close to a banshee any living can ever get. I know now what Karabor is – what it means. But then I didn’t, and the rage in her eyes… the glee, as a fat orc exploded like a bomb from a single word of death. Such power!

Draenei. Are. Death! How glorious they are! How glorious WE are!

Yes … Much later a very nice girl, her name is Ariannah, told me I was just as much draenei as anyone. Of course, she had a bird on her head so maybe she was crazy.

This I remember:

As Master raced towards the hijacked Iron Horde warship someone grabbed her hand. A child we thought (but I knew better; but who listens to a geist, eh?). I imagine the touch was soft but firm from fear. Master glanced sideways, as I did because what Maste does I do. We saw not a child. We saw the terrified face of a young woman (she might have been scared of me but I think she was more scared of the orcs). Moments later we were aboard the hijacked ship and that’s when Master realised who the woman was.

As did I. But I didn’t tell. Geist know how to keep a secret. We take our secrets to the grave …

“Help me, friend,” the woman said. “Please don¨t let me die. Not here. Please?”
“You’re already dead,” Master said, yanked her younger self onboard and then let go of herself. “You just don’t know it yet.” She gave the woman a long, hard look. “You don’t know me, you never will. Go, sing praise. Forget about me. Trust me, you’ll be happier that way.”
“You … so cold?”
“I’m dead.” Master sighed. I could tell she really didn’t want to do it but there was no other way to shake this newfound friend off her back. “Geist! Over here! Stat!”

Ah … yess …. Yes! Of course I came. I came. Because I am free. Master has set me free (let me tell you that story). I laughed as I skittered across the deck going “Mmmaaah Aaah raaahaaa!“. I do believe I thought it prudent to be as scary as I could. I’m not to bad at being scary, you know.

I scared Master, such as she once were. Master, such as she once were, scurried off with a terrified look on her face, covering in fear close to Maraad. You know what?

Master was rather cute when she was full of life.

The Experiment (How a race change really works)


(I deleted the monk, Ravenna, the other day. I have tried and failed. Monk is my most hated class. Instead I went for the next best leather thing; Rogue. Now … see, here’s my problem: There are no draenei rogues. So I had to create a ‘draenei in spirit’ rogue. That’s when I thought of … mogu technology. I mean – someone must have found all that stuff in Throne of Thunder, right? And puti t to use? Likely with an acoutrement of green smoke.

If you ever wondered what happens when you decide on a race change – or, for that matter, class change – this might give some insight. You see, in spirit, Ravennah the night elf rogue is still a draenei.

She just don’t look draenei.

This story contains a gnome, a goblin and a mysterious human.

You have been warned.)

– – – – – –

“This thing on!?” Echoing across the frozen plain. “Right, it is! Goblin titan artifact repurposing unit assisting Gnomeregan Engineers fiftysecond reg Tee! No one ever say Speeds don’t get the contract, amiriite, right!? Yeah, so! Tee I Subject: Zero! Zero! One! Dash! Nine! Six! Five! Fo– seriously, you gnomes need all these numbers!? You do? Huh. Four! Eight! Nine! Nine! Ravennah, be a doll and … Enter the Blast Chamber!”

Ravennah heard it loud and clear but she didn’t move. For almost two minutes everyone was quiet. Spaz Fizzlefuse was silent. The junior engineers were quiet. Even the poisonous blobs were quiet.

Echoing across the frozen plain. A voice. There was a high-pitched but polite gnomeadding: “Please?” The voice was somewhat frantic and nervous. “I know you volonteered and we can’t ask you to move your behind any fast–”
(“Mighty fine ass to it is,” the goblin interjected)
“–er but … Well yes, absolutely. You know, Speeds, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to, you know, get some. With one of those. I’m prone to probing the behind of certain subjects of my … anyway!”

Ravennah decided not to get angry. There was other things on her mind. Most of all the eighteen feet wide black hole in the plain, a hole from which a thick stream of green smoke was rising. The hole was surrounded by heavy metal blast plates set up in some sort of pattern that probably was important. How she didn’t know.

“Ya like I mean like absolutely like totally sure this like be safe, guys!?” she screamed, just to be certain that the ‘researchers’ in their blast chamber across the frozen fields of New Tinkertown would hear her. “I mean it’s like green smoke’n’all ya kno’!?”

“Yeah, dollface!” the voice exploded across the fields. “Safe as a paladin in a house of lewd ladies!”
“Is that a metaphor for sexual pleasures?” the pitched voice said, the tone being honest and extremely curious. “Mind telling me where to find this lovely locale? Are there draenei there? I wasn’t asked to storm the portal, oh no, they didn’t think I would be of much use you see, and I mean just because my cousin Millhouse got … Well,… never mind. Let’s focus, shall we!?”
“Right doll!” the goblin echoed across the plain. “It’s safe! There’s a horny gnome in my booth so get a move on or you’re fired!”
“We can’t fire her. She volonteered and I don’t think we will find anyone stupid e- I mea–”
“IT GETS IN THE MACHINE OR ELSE IT WON’T GET PAID!!!” a human voice exploded through a bullhorn across the desolation of a poisonous field. “Please!” Then, as if the speaker forgot the bullhorn, there was a short and angry “damned blueskins, always talking ba– is this thing still on?”

“Yeah,” the goblin said. “Oh now you’ve done it! She’ll go all vindicator on us!”

But, alas, she didn’t.

There was another tense pause. Minutes dragged by. Important things kept happening on screens and strange apparatuses. Speedy Paddlefeet didn’t konw what any of it meant. He just swallowed hard and whiped his brow. The test subject was currently not moving on the other side of the lake. He waited, but nothing happened. So he leaned back fast, covering the mouthpeace of the bullhorn with the palm of his hand and whispered to himself:
“Come o-ooon, girl!”

“I wish she would turn around … ” Sizzle the gnome said in a sort of far away, dreamy tone. His eyes had glazed over, as if he was lost in a daydream. “Dat ass … ”

On the other side of the field of death, Ravennah tried to convince herself to go forth. After all – wasn’t this an adventure? She had longed for a good adventure! Stacking boxes of supplies for heroes set out on a supposed suicide mission had, in fact, been pretty boring. So when a goblin showed up in Goldshire (she went there for drinks and ‘recreation’) and offered her a deal of a lifetime she jumped on it. Without thought.

Now, well … Now she knew what he wanted.

In the blast chamber, Speedy started to sweat even though it was below freezing and he wore nothing but a knitted linen vest and leather hot pants (those kept his important parts warm; it was a goblin thing). He pleaded with her, silently in his own mind. Go! Go!

She had to move! Everything depended on her moving, going down the tunnel they had bored with the help of dark iron tunnelers that Speedy also had ‘aquired’ (don’t ask how). Engineer Sizzlefuse – a gnome, despite his goblinesque name – was in charge, sure. But it was Speedy, the Booty Bay goblin trader, who had “aquired” the prototype. Suffice to say he had ‘come across it’ somewhere in or around Halls of Origination. Of course he didn’t tell the test subject! He was a very smart goblin!

On the other side of the frozen, toxic lake, Ravennah sighed. This was indeed a really bad idea … She didn’t mind the cold (even though she wore nothing but her underwear). She did mind that bit about not getting paid. She had been promised two thousand gold upon completion of a ‘simple but intriguing experiment’. That was a lot of money – especially for someone who didn’t want to write a letter to a sister, once again. A letter starting with a ‘Dear Shu, I am writing in hope of you being able to extend a small sum of money to me … “. There had been a lot of those letters. The latest reply had been short. A single syllable word on a very cheap postcard from Pandaria: NO.

She had never been any good with money. Desperation and defiance – that was probably the main reason she was here. A single step was all that stood between her and a large some of money. So she took a deep breath …

She trod on something. It went ‘Squish’. Next thing she knew she was covered in foul green sludge. It itched. It smelled bad. She stumbled forward, tripping on a piece of ancient debris – and went head first down the hole with a short and suprised scream.

Then there were smoke.

She didn’t know how long she was unconscious. The one thing she did know was a worried goblin voice muttering “Oh now you’ve done it!”. Then a frantic gnome voice wheezing “What happens in Gnomer stays in Gnomer!”.

She emerged from the smoke. Slowly, every step a calculated movement, as if she had been transformed into something else, something that was still unused to walking. Then there was another voice. It was her voice. It said:



There was a pause. Then Speedy said, as he gently started to back up against a wall: “Will there be blood?”

“Count on it,” Ravennah said.