Twas the Night before Cata
By Verli, Vorgesh, and Apaulo of Crushridge-US
'Twas the night before Cata, and all through the hold
Not a creature was stirring, not even a kobold.
The weapons were hung through the Valleys with care,
In hopes that the Warchief soon would be there.
The Hordelings were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of the Shattering danced in their heads.
And the tank with his plate, and I in my Tier 10,
Were ready to run some new raids! But then—
In the Valley of Strength there arose such a clatter,
I leapt to my drake to see what was the matter.
Away to the Valley I flew like a flash,
It must be Alliance, those pieces of trash.
The moon on the torsos and newly-hewn limbs
Gave blood lust of battle to the warriors so grim.
When, what to my murderous eyes should appear,
But the Warchief Garrosh, with Gorehowl to fear.
With a little old flick, so lively and quick,
He cut some old dwarf right in the dick.
More rapid than eagles his attackers they came,
And he whirled, and shouted, and called them to shame!
"You sluts, you bastards, you manwhores and curs!
You'll be dickless in minutes, you mark my words!
Through the Valley of Strength, to the Gates of Mighty Org!
Now bash away, smash away, give them the sword!"
As dry leaves that before mighty Al'Akir fly,
When they meet with Garrosh they surely will die.
So out to Durotor the attackers they flew,
With their clothes full of blood, and their pants full of poo.
And then, by surprise, I heard such a thing
Of great power and prowess it must be Deathwing.
As I drew back my fist and cast down my mace,
I punched that great dragon right in the face.
Deathwing was crushed, from his head to his foot,
And his scales were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A dumb little rogue tried to strike him, so dim,
Deathwing threw him through the bank with a whim.
His eyes – how they glowered! His face full of fury!
His teeth were like sabers, his breath hotter than curry!
With a groan and a rumble, he rolled onto his back,
He whipped his tail and smacked the ground with a thwack.
The stump of a troll he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
His fearsome dread maw was drawn up in a sneer,
His black metal jaws will kill all you hold dear.
Garrosh hefted his axe and took a warrior's stand,
"Lok'tar Ogar dragon, your time is at hand!"
The whistle of his axe and the tats on his head,
Caused me to relax; I had nothing to dread.
He bellowed with rage, and went straight to his work,
And charged at the dragon like the great Captain Kirk.
He hit the old Aspect on the side of his nose,
Mighty Deathwing did shudder, from his snout to his toes.
But he sprang to the air, and gave such a bellow,
That even the strongest had legs turn to jello.
And I heard him exclaim, 'ere he took to the sky,
"Happy Cata to all, but now you must die!"