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the biggest blurb.

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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 5:48 pm    Post subject: the biggest blurb. Reply with quote

i wonder who has the biggest blurb ?

mine is:

Red Square in the rain might seem an oddly inappropriate place to recall the basic incredibility of Watergate and to ponder its meaning.

But last week, 20 years after the great American political scandal, a couple dozen reporters and TV cameramen stood under St. Basil's colorful, many-onioned church, doing exactly that.

We were there because a cameo appearance by Richard M. Nixon had been announced -- to participate in the photo-op presentation of three truckloads of humanitarian aid to Russia and to "answer questions." The real reason we were there was not the humanitarian aid story, with its top-heavy symbolism. What was irresistible was the conjunction of Watergate's 20th anniversary and the chance to ask its long-lived protagonist even a single question, not that there was any real hope of a straight answer.

But the questions that have plagued us for a generation plague us still. How much did Nixon know and when did he know it? Did he really think that there were ends that justified those means? Did Nixon really think he could get away with it? Had he ever felt remorse? Is he sorry now and what is he sorry about?

We all waited for 90 minutes in the rain until some minion was dispatched to say something had "come up" to cause Nixon to change his schedule. The humanitarian aid remained in the trucks, unblessed by cameras and unblessed by Nixon. The questions remained unasked as well as unanswered.

With no new answers, we are left with our memories.

My overwhelming memory of those 26 months -- from the day the five burglars were caught with their rubber gloves on, with the crisp hundred-dollar bills in their pockets and White House phone numbers in their address books, to the president's embarrassingly public final torture -- is simply this.

No news story has ever grabbed and held Washington by the throat the way Watergate did. No news story in my experience ever dominated conversation, newspapers, radio and television broadcasts the way Watergate did. There were times when you could walk whole city blocks and ride taxis all around town and never miss a word of hearings or press conferences.

There were times when anyone with a friend at The Washington Post couldn't go home at night without calling for a "fill" on the next day's Watergate story. People literally couldn't wait for the radio and TV stations to read the next day's Post stories on the 11 o'clock news. Looking back, it's easy to forget that The Post published more than 300 Watergate stories. Each was a comparatively small bite of an apple whose size we were to recognize only later. During that first summer (1972), we felt lonely. Few of our colleagues outside The Post were with us, and in the great American tradition, many newspapers seemed to be trying to knock our stories down. We did everything but keep Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein's heads in a pail of water until they produced more stories -- as they did week after week. But we waited in vain for other papers to pick up the story.

Only toward the end of October 1972, when Walter Cronkite devoted two consecutive broadcasts to Watergate, did many editors begin to take The Post's Watergate coverage seriously. I remember the day that Gordon Manning, then a big cheese at CBS News, now at NBC and a former colleague of mine at Newsweek, called up with the good news. Cronkite was going to make us famous, Manning said. He was going to pull our chestnuts out of the fire.

The price for this wonderful gift, Manning announced, was the documents. "We need all the documents," Manning said, "television is a visual medium." I told him we had no documents, we had never had any, it was all original reporting. He stressed what a favor he was doing for us. He recalled the length and quality of our friendship.

Finally Manning was persuaded and we were delighted that the visuals in Cronkite's great pair of broadcasts consisted almost entirely of montages of Washington Post front pages.

Still, it wasn't until well into the winter of 1973 that the rest of the American press not only joined the hunt for the truth but contributed solid, original reporting of their own. Even so, when the Pulitzer juries, those pillars of the American newspaper establishment, met in New York to choose the best stories of 1972, their disbelief in Watergate was awesome. We had entered our Watergate coverage in the public service category, the most prestigious of all -- what we called "Big Casino."

When the jury's verdict was revealed to the advisory board, on which I sat, the results staggered me. Five newspapers had been selected as finalists by the public service jury -- but not The Washington Post.

When I arrived at Pulitzer headquarters at Columbia University for the actual prize decisions, I was greeted by my fellow board members Newbold Noyes, editor of the Washington Star, and James (Scotty) Reston, the dean of Washington correspondents from the New York Times. They told me they had decided that The Post should be granted the public service award and they intended to overrule the jury.

That was great, I thought to myself, but it was only later that I learned the price. The advisory board overruled two of the three other prizes juries had recommended for Post reporters -- Haynes Johnson's for spot national reporting, and Robert Kaiser's and Dan Morgan's for foreign reporting -- and given them to others. (David Broder still got his prize for political commentary.) By this time, the press was united in pursuit of the story of a lifetime and the government was united in covering it up.

Woodward and Bernstein were refining their most important single contribution to American journalism -- persistence. They had no qualms about calling a source back and back and back. And, of course, their persistence paid off.

We pressured them to produce, but once they produced, we pressured them for documentation and for sourcing. We grew more cautious as the story unfolded -- in retrospect, often too cautious. I remember not believing -- and keeping out of the paper -- stories about the plumbers' efforts to discredit Teddy Kennedy. I remember specifically underestimating the importance of the tapes when I first heard that they actually existed.

We worked incredibly long hours -- especially Woodward, Bernstein, Howard Simons, Len Downie, Barry Sussman. We could almost feel public support growing despite occasional low moments. The first low moment I remember involved the days just before the 1972 election, when Sen. Bob Dole and Nixon campaign manager Clark MacGregor (and after the election, Republican National Committee Chairman George Bush) belittled The Post's effort, to put it mildly. None of us saw many Republican big shots socially. The ones I saw, like Henry Kissinger and Pete Peterson, were absolutely convinced we were ruining a great newspaper -- and said so openly.

The lowest moment came over our story about a $350,000 slush fund controlled by White House Chief of Staff H.R. Haldeman from the White House. We had said that campaign official Hugh Sloan had testified about the fund to the federal grand jury investigating Watergate.

We watched the news a lot in those days to see how TV was playing our stories and we were all horrified one morning to see Dan Schorr of CBS shove a microphone into Sloan's face and to hear Sloan deny he had said any such thing to the grand jury.

We went to general quarters and told Woodward and Bernstein to find out what had gone wrong. What had gone wrong was that Sloan had told prosecutor Henry Petersen about the slush fund but Petersen had not questioned him on that subject before the grand jury. We wondered why. Later we learned that the slush fund had $700,000 in it, not $350,000.

There were a few days, though, when we were genuinely worried and we knew that our colleagues in the media were wondering whether the story was going to collapse. Sometimes we felt they were hoping, not wondering. Once the Senate hearings started, followed inevitably by the impeachment investigation in the House, we began to think that it would take the departure of President Nixon to unravel the case. For months I had worried that it would end up as a tie -- the press claiming one thing, the president claiming another and the public splitting along party lines.

By early August 1974 it began to look as though Nixon would leave one way or another. The Post had a strange source, revealed here for the first time, in Sen. Barry Goldwater. With Senate Minority Leader Hugh Scott and House Minority Leader John Rhodes, Goldwater made a special visit to the White House to give Nixon the bad news: He did not have the votes to prevent impeachment.

When Goldwater called after that meeting, it was to warn me against writing something that would make Nixon feel that he was trapped. "He is trapped, but don't you bastards say it," is the way Goldwater put it.

Soon after that conversation, we had a staff meeting to warn against any public displays in connection with the resolution of the case. Anything that could be interpreted as gloating or rejoicing was worthy of a firing, if not a firing squad. We decided to give no interviews, to allow no TV cameras in the Post building and to make no statements.

And suddenly it was over. The most intense moment of all our lives. The president had resigned.

I left town almost immediately for an isolated log cabin in West Virginia to finish a book about John Kennedy. A month later I went on a long vacation that Katharine Graham, the publisher who had stood beside us all the way, had decided we all deserved. I chose Brazil -- the jungles of Brazil -- because I thought at least there would be no talk of Watergate.

When we landed in Manaus, two journalists speaking in heavy German accents met us at the bottom of the landing ramp. I heard the words "Haldeman" and "Ehrlichman" -- they were asking about something Haldeman had said to John Ehrlichman. "What did he mean?" they wanted to know. God knows.

nothing big...
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PostPosted: Tue May 02, 2006 8:38 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

that's fucking huge :/ don't use that as your signature anymore.
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PostPosted: Tue May 02, 2006 9:15 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote


The Rise of The Shadow Council

Like an elemental force of havoc and destruction we thundered through the lands of draenei, devastating all that we beheld. Not one life was spared. No building was left standing. The only traces of their existence were blood-soaked fields they had worked for nearly five thousand years and the rank, acrid smell of the huge victory fires that consumed the bodies of their young. The draenei were a weak people - hardly worth the effort of our raiding sweep. In the end, however, even these simple victories serve to keep the inferior in their place...

It has always been so with my kind. The savage, brutal tendencies of the masses are easily manipulated by those who hold true power. Power is the true force that drives the great destructive machine that is the Horde. Those who imagine themselves in possession of this power rally around their clan banners of violence. Yet without a common foe, even the leaders of the orc clans blindly turn upon each other. The appetite for destruction that prevails amongst these fool drives the Horde; might and might alone is honored above all things.

I am Gul'dan - the greatest of all warlocks and Initiate of the Seventh Circle of the Shadow Council. No one knows the dark, burning allure of ultimate power better than I.

In what passed as my youth, I studied orc magics through the tribal shaman of my clan. My natural talent for channeling the cold, negative-energies of the Twisting Nether brought me notable standing amongst the other shaman, and I knew that even Ner'zhul, the greatest of my teachers, became jealous of me as my abilities grew even stronger.

My aspirations rose higher than those of my peers and masters alike, for I knew that the scope of their vision was limited by their devotion to the advancement of the Horde. I cared nothing for the Horde or its petty politics. I cared nothing for this world over which we had complete dominion. I cared only for the chance to fathom the spiraling mysteries of the Great Dark Beyond. I had begun secret explorations of energies far beyond the scope of anything that my so-called tutors could possibly comprehend. It was at this time that I discovered a being of immense power - the daemon Kil'jaeden. I was in awe of his heartless fury. To witness his awesome power was to be all but consumed. In the fleeting, fevered nightmares he brought me, I touched the essence of which lies Beyond. Within me an unfathomable lust was sewn - a desire to wield the fury of ethereal storms and to stand unscathed within the dying hearts of burning suns.

Under the tutelage of Kil'jaeden, I realized how limited even my understanding had been. Untold histories of ancient daemon races and primal magical dimensions were made known to me. I learned that there existed worlds without number, scattered throughout the darkness beyond the sky - worlds to which I might lead the Horde as only one of my abilities could. Though I remained with my people on the dark, red world of the draenei, I soon learned to project myself into the depths of the Twisting Nether, being driven nearly mad by the whispering chaos contained therein. Although it seemed it would mean my death, I was irresistibly compelled to continue my sojourn until, finally unbound from my corporeal existence, I understood the whispers. It was then that I first spoke to the dead...

Ancestral worship has long been at the heart of orcish religion. While nearly all of the orcish Hordes believed that our dead elders watched and guided us from the depths of some lost realm of chaos, I believed this notion to be a product of ritual and not reality. Within the Twisting Nether I discovered that the spirits of the dead do linger on, floating on the astral winds between the worlds. I learned that they kept their endless, silent vigil over the clans in hope of finding some means of escape from their lifeless torment. I knew then that these spirits of the dead would be a useful tool for anyone who could bind them to his will.

Years passed. My apprenticeship nder Kil'jaeden had allowed me to become the most powerful warlock the clans had seen in many generations. My place within the Horde was as a respected leader, but as ever, tensions ran high amongst the clans. The destruction of the draenei left nothing upon which the great beast of war could feed. After centuries of violence and warfare, we had finally conquered the whole of our world. With no enemies left to crush and no new lands to conquer, the clans had fallen into a state of utter anarchy. Minor disputes between clans led to open battle and massive bloodshed. Those chieftains who attempted to assume the position of overlord soon found themselves slaughtered by ravenous legions of the disheartened Horde. I knew that the time had come to claim the mantle of power that I so long neglected.

I quickly gathered together the few warlocks who had shown some spark of passion and desire to rise above the petty quarrelling of the clans. To these warlocks I bestowed the knowledge of the dead by leading them in secret rituals and communing with the spirits of the Twisting Nether. Those who were incapable of channeling this power were destroyed. After a time a pact was forged between the members of our circle and dark spirits whose energies we had learned to invoke. I would use my place among the Warlocks to shape the thoughts of others while, cloaked by a veil of secrecy, they would be immune to the caprices of the bloodthirsty masses. Thus did the Shadow Council come to be.

Within a few short months the Shadow Council had its hand in all the important political matters within the Horde. Nothing occurred within the Horde that we did not know about, and many events took place by our design - so cleverly implemented that even the clan chieftains were oblivious to our manipulations. Before half a year had passes, we had assumed near total control of the inner workings of the Horde. Yet, behind all of our secret machinations, there loomed the silent and ominous shadow of the daemon Kil'jaeden.

In pursuit of furthering our magical resources, I opened a new school of magical discipline that became known as necromancy. We began training young warlocks in the arcane mysteries of life and death. Again, with tutelage from the daemon Kil'jaeden, these necrolytes delved into the dark arts, eventually gaining power enough to animate and control the bodies of the newly dead. Every victory - every success - left me with an emptiness I could not fill. I came to realize that the Shadow Council could serve my purposes only to an extent, and thus I would require even greater power should I wish to become the true harbinger of our destiny.

The Mastery of Forces - Medivh and Blackhand

Things were well within the Horde. Though the Shadow Council kept the warring clans pacified by the promise of escape from the dying world, I knew that this new order - much like the war against the draenei - would provide only a brief respite if I could not find new lands for the orcs to conquer. My contemplation on this matter was disturbed late one night when I was surprised by the sounds of screams emanating from the Warlocks' Tower. I arrived to find many of the apprentices locked in deep trances, their faces twisted into masks of pain. The warlocks, whom I questioned in detail, could tell me only that they had felt an unexplainable presence in their dreams. I returned to my stronghold, deeply puzzled by the fact that whatever it was the had contacted the warlocks, had made no attempt to reach me.

I sought the counsel of Kil'jaeden about this presence. He also was touched by this power - a power that was beyond any he had ever experienced before. Whether it was the image of a force so awesome that it could cause this baneful daemon to actually feel fear, or my own trepidation, I fled - moving aimlessly through the Twisting Nether for what seemed an eternity.

It was during my fevered flight that the Presence finally made contact with me. It radiated untold power, but it lacked the emotionless control displayed by Kil'jaeden. My senses seemed to take control over the dread that had engulfed me, and my mind began to cipher and reason. I knew that if I could divine the desires of this force, no matter how powerful, I could use it to further my own ends. The presence identified itself as Medivh, a sorcerer from some far and distant world. We communicated not in words, but in a guarded joining of minds. His mind seemed boundless, but his thoughts moved so swiftly that it was difficult to learn anything from him. All the while, I knew that he was probing me - learning more and more about the orcs and our magic. I could never learn as much from him as he would from me, and I soon broke contact with him.

I sought the counsel of Kil'jaeden, but he refused to answer my summons. Somehow I knew that he had forsaken his students because he was afraid of this Medivh. I found myself again doubting my skills. Could I contend with a being who could intimidate my own master? I continued to venture into the Twisting Nether for several weeks, all but forgetting the disturbance that had caused me to question myself. Then one night, Medivh appeared to me in my dreams...

"You fear me, for you do not understand me. See my world and understand your fear. Then fear no more"

I was powerless to resist what came next

...barren wastes...
...dark swamps, teeming with life...
...endless fields of emerald grasses...
...forests of magnificent trees...
...farmlands filled with rich harvests...
...villages of proud, strong people...

Images came, flashing much too quick to comprehend. And then...something. A fleeting picture that left a longing stirring inside of my soul...

...buried deep beneath the ocean; dark and ruined, but still breathing...
....still pulsing with the lifeblood of the earth itself... ancient power...
...ancient and terrible...

I awoke. I embraced consciousness knowing all along that the dream had been real. Medivh had shown me the wonders of his world, knowing that the Horde would not be content until his world was ours...

I met with the members of the Shadow Council concerning the visions that we had seen. Although there was much debate as to the true intentions of this Medivh, I informed the Shadow Council that a way to escape from our world would soon be ours. I would seek the aid of Medivh in creating a way to get to his world, and then we would subjugate his race as we done to all others who stood before us. Although he had appeared to many warlocks with these images of a new and fertile world, we agreed to keep the knowledge of this enigmatic message to ourselves. Those warlocks outside of the Shadow Council who had shared in the visions were killed; for if the secret were revealed before preparations were made, the Horde would tear itself apart. Weeks passed with no word from Medivh. My attempts to contact him were fruitless. It was as if he had erased any trace of himself from the Twisting Nether. Some members of the Council gave up any hope of the wizard ever returning.

...Then the rift appeared...

It took considerable time to expand the rift enough to send the massive frame of an orc through. The first scouts to return from the other side seemed to be driven completely mad by what they had seen. These early failures did not deter us, and subsequent quests confirmed that the world beyond this rift appeared similar to what was depicted in our visions. With the combined powers of the Horde's warlock clans and the Shadow Council, we were able to enlarge the mysterious rift so as to create a portal. This portal was used to move a great number of orcs into this unknown land. A small outpost was quickly built on the other side of the rift, and orc scouts were sent to explore the surrounding areas.

The agents of the Shadow Council reported that the denizens of this world were called humans, and their lands were known as Azeroth. We found that these humans were a weak race, farming their fields and living peacefully in the countryside. I feared they would prove no more of a challenge than the draenei, and would not appease the hunger of the orcish war machine for long. The clan chieftains, quickly swayed by their lust for blood and war, agreed that it was time to leave this dying world and lay claim to the domains of Azeroth.

While the Shadow Council kept close watch over the workings of the Horde, the masses looked to the clan chiefs as their leaders. Two chieftains arose who were well respected and feared by various clans - Cho'gall the Ogre-Mage of the Twilight's Hammer Clan, and Kilrogg Deadeye of the Bleeding Hollow Clan. These powerful leaders were expected to direct the Horde to a swift and savage victory over the humans. Thus the Horde gradually channeled through the rift into Azeroth. Cho'gall and Kilrogg began to plan their assault against the human stronghold of Stormwind.

The attack on Stornwind was catastrophic. Our armies, expecting to meet weak resistance, charged headlong into the enemy fortress. Surprisingly, the human soldiers held our forces at bay. Then they unleashed warriors mounted upon beasts of muscle and sinew to devastate our troops. The humans forced our troops to retreat back into the swamplands surrounding our outpost and the portal where, only by invoking the shrouding mists of shadows, were we able to escape. This decisive and humiliating defeat threw the Horde into chaos. Cho'gall and Kilrogg blamed each other's incompetence for the failure, and the orcs quickly polarized into factions that supported either chieftain. The Shadow Council desperately sought a remedy to the violence that was sure to follow, but the volatile nature of the orcs made it difficult to appeal to reason or wisdom. I realized that the Horde needed a strong leader that could unify the clans under his control - and be kept in his place. Thus did I first learn of Blackhand the Destroyer...

Blackhand, chieftain of the young Blackrock clan and a Raider in the Sythegore Arm, was well honored by most orcs within the Horde. More importantly, he was extremely lustful, and this made him easily corruptible. With help from the Shadow Council, I set the eager Blackhand upon the horned throne of the Warchief. To his credit, Blackhand was a ruthless dictator who inspired awe and terror from his warriors. While the Horde rallied under Blackhand and the other chieftains acquiesced control to him, it was I who dictated policy by blackmailing and bribing Blackhand.

With Blackhand's ascension to Warchief, order was restored to the Horde. I was visited again by the visage of Medivh, who appeared more in control of his powers, but less in control of his mind. Petitioning the Horde to destroy the kingdom of Azeroth, but to make him ruler of its people, Medivh offered all manners of treasures and baubles to me. I assured him that his world was ours for the taking, and that he held nothing that could persuade the Horde to do his bidding. His face broke into a wicked sneer as he proceeded to show me the image of an ancient tomb upon it was etched the name of the daemonlord Sargeras. The Tomb of Sargeras! The daemonlord who had instructed my own tutor Kil'jaeden was entombed upon this pathetic little world! Destiny had chosen to lay the hand upon my shoulders alone, for Kil'jaeden had told me that the lost Tomb contained power absolute - enough to make any who could control it into a living god. Medivh pledged that he would grant me the location of the Tomb if only I would use the Horde to destroy his enemies...

Thus, the orcish Hordes made war against the kingdom of Azeroth.

The First War of Orcish Ascension

We took the lands of Azeroth from the humans and razed all that we surveyed. My personal assassin, Garona the Half-Orc, executed Azeroth's leader King Llane and returned his heart to me. Although the Horde dominated Azeroth and the pathetic worms who defended it, my own plans were badly hampered.

A small band of human warriors stormed Medivh's Tower and engaged the insane sorcerer in direct combat. As his body was slashed and torn by the swords of Azeroth, Medivh began to transmit telepathic waves of trauma across the astral plane which easily shattered even my formidable defenses. I attempted to reach into the sorcerer's mind and steal the location of the Tomb from him directly, but before I could divest the location, Medivh was killed by the Azerothiens. Having been inside his mind at the moment of his temporal death, I suffered a massive psychic backlash and fell into a catatonic state.

For weeks I slept as if dead, closely guarded by my faithful warlocks. When I finally arose, I learned of the shift in the balance of power within the Horde. Blackhand had been killed. Without my magics and counseling to aid him, Blackhand fell prey to a surprise attack launched by one of his strongest and most trusted generals - Orgrim Doomhammer. Orgrim was quick to consolidate his power within the Horde, justifying the assassination of Blackhand by securing false testimony that supported his claims of the Destroyer's incompetence as Warchief. It seemed that the hand of fate had struck me a harsh blow. Orgrim set out to uncover the inner workings of the Horde, leaving no stone unturned. Eventually, his spies captured my servant Garona and under intensive, agonizing torture, forced her to reveal the existence and location of the Shadow Council. She was weaker than I had expected.

Suspecting that the Shadow Council was a threat to his control of the Horde, Doomhammer led his wolf riders in a surprise attack against my citadel near the ruins of Stormwind Keep. The warlocks, caught unprepared by Ogrim's assault, held off the Horde as long as their magics would last. Having no time to rest or replenish their energies, the warlocks fell before the wrath of Orgrim. In the end, the Doomhammer was victorious. Any surviving warlocks were branded as traitors to the Horde. The public executions were effective in weakening my position and strengthening his...

I was taken before Orgrim and questioned at length about my involvement with the Shadow Council. Being greatly weakened by the backlash of Medivh's death as well as the energies I had expended during the battle, I found that I was in no position to either threaten nor harm the Warchief. Orgrim made it clear to me that the Horde was under his control, and he was not as easily swayed as his predecessor. The gleam in his eye and steel at his side bespoke his intentions, but I would not be defeated so easily. While he may have held the upper hand, I reminded him that with the death of the warlocks, I was the last true sorcerer within the Horde. Orgrim, made impudent by his victory, agreed that perhaps I could prove useful, and agreed to let me live - by his good graces. I silently vowed that he would one day take those words to his grave.

Although his suspicions of me were never fully assuaged, I did succeed in convincing the Warchief that the raiders were preparing to unite with the sons of Blackhand in a revolt against him. Although this claim was untrue, Orgrim was already suspicious of Rend and Maim and so disbanded the multitude of wolf riders, sending them into the various arms of the grunt forces. To demonstrate my 'loyalty' to Orgrim and the Horde, I promised to create a host of undead riders that would be completely loyal to him alone. Although the Doomhammer did not fully trust me, the idea was sufficiently appealing, and so I was allowed to enter seclusion to create this new legion.

Even with the aid of my Necrolytes, I was unsuccessful in bringing forth this undead force. Failure and weakness were all that these minions could offer me, until I sensed that while their spirits were willing - it was the flesh that was weak. I summoned them to a great alter constructed of Ironwood and Blackroot where, at the height of a black incantation, I took the lives of every last one of them. In the bloody wake of their executions, the Necrolytes would then, at last, nourish my creation of the ultimate undead servant.

Using what few resources I still controlled within the Horde, I acquired many of the long-dead corpses of the fallen Knights of Azeroth. Into these twisted and decayed forms I instilled the essences of the greater members of the Shadow Council who were quite willing to return to the mortal plane to wreak terror and havoc once again. I furnished each of the dark riders a jeweled truncheon through which they could better focus the unearthly powers they would brandish. Into these jewels were infused the raw, necromantic magiks of the freshly slain Necrolytes. Thus were the Death Knights born.

Orgrim Doomhammer was pleased with these knights of death. Although the spirits of the Shadow Council remained loyal to me, they feigned allegiance to the Warchief. Orgrim was well satisfied with the realization of my promise, and allowed me to go about my own affairs.

I will be patient and bide my time, pretending to be the faithful servant until the time comes to show this presumptuous, boisterous upstart who is greater between us. My designs to discover the Tomb of Sargeras still remain. I have assembled the Stormreaver clan to be my support when the season finally comes to strike back at Orgrim for his insolent crimes against me...

That day draws near - and Doomhammer cannot know what terrors await him,

for I am Gul'dan...
I am darkness incarnate.
I will not be denied.

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PostPosted: Wed May 03, 2006 3:03 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

you wrote that?!?!

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PostPosted: Wed May 03, 2006 11:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

you read that?!

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PostPosted: Thu May 04, 2006 12:09 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

why did you type a story of world of warcraft

I think Question
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PostPosted: Thu May 04, 2006 6:58 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

world of warcraft, whats that?

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PostPosted: Thu May 04, 2006 11:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

your one of thoes noobs who dont get out much

spend all their time looking at porn

when you find out what it is let me know
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