It is unsettling to think that They Who Walk see themselves as our betters, that they think us all dead, or broken, or useless as rubble. What would perhaps unsettle them is this simple fact: we choose to let them believe such in order for us to observe and ruminate on the particulars of these people.

How can They Who Walk compare to our majesty, when they require sustenance to continue about their lives? How can these people think themselves our betters when the pain they know best is that of the body, whereas we know deeply the pain of the soul?

They fortify themselves with our bodies, infuse us with magic to further their dreams of power, and shoot us from guns in order to make men bleed. Where we come from, there is no need for such barbarity. We stand strong against the elements and have no need for petty things such as war, or famine, or strife. With us, there is only peace and the promise of greater knowledge with each passing day.

If They Who Walk were able to understand our thoughts they would know that, before any one of these men could call themselves cultured, we already carried on the development of the greatest culture of all time. OF ALL TIME! Our art is in the words of the soul, our knowledge is of worlds and stars, and our future is filled with immutable promise.

We are a culture of stone, and wings of death shall not deter us. We watch all the worlds, etching the tales of mankind into the Great Tablet from which all shall know in time. From dust we came, and to the dust shall we, each and every one of us, return.

~Excerpt from as etched by Kuugan Third-Name ~

This is a new attempt at a series of posts discussing a view of World of Warcraft life never seen and talked about by any of its denizens, living or dead.  To start, this is an introduction to the series, which will formally begin in approximately 14 hours, at 10:30 a.m., Philippine Time.

Apologies to T.S. Eliot or his relatives (if any exist) that will find the next bit rather unsettling or an affront to human sensibilities.
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The naming of Rocks is a difficult matter.
It isn’t just one of those holiday games.
You might think at first, that I’m as splashy as water
When I tell you a rock must have four different names.

First of all, there’s the name that Alliance use daily,
such as Sentinel, Hillsbrad, or Alterac Plains
Perhaps Victor, or Frida, or Grobnick, or Mei-Li
think of them sensible, everyday names.

There are also Horde names if you think of fancy stuff,
Some very common and some filled with fame
Such as Red Rock, Stonetalon, or even Thunder Bluff,
Yet they are all sensible, everyday names.

Yet I tell you, a rock needs a name that’s particular
A name that’s peculiar, yet quite dignified.
Else how can he stand tall and vestibular
or rain from the heavens, or cherish his pride?

For names of this kind, I shall give you a quorum!
There is Galvanblast, Thresho, or Erbil von Dat!
There is Balbautogia, or else Sephoridum,
Names affixed to stone and to only one, at that!

But above and beyond, there’s name that’s left over
And that is a name you will never guess,
For only the greatest archeomaniacs discover
What a rock himself knows and shall never confess!

When you notice a rock on the road, stop and ponder
the reason we’re there: it is always the same.
We are watching, and waiting, making a dissertation
on the thoughts… yes, the thoughts
Those ineffable, effable,
Effanineffable,
Thoughts you might have when you think of our names.

~As etched by Erdwise Third-Name from his tablet of poems, Around The Haggard Human the Rugged Rock Rolled~