The complaint about Mr. Varian Wrynn
*Well, here's the next complaint. This time, Caleb rips on Varian Wrynn, the King of Stormwind in his own city! See what ensues. I should also note that this actually has something to do with Flesh, describing what Caleb did before the events in Flesh. Anyway, enjoy.*
Caleb, after profiting from Jaina's roast, Caleb was due for another speech, this time in the Slaughtered Lamb tavern. He was rather pleased with himself that he, Caleb, was on the path of destroying Azeroth's most prominent figures' reputations. He was now entering the tavern and made his way through the burly crowd, towards the podium on the rather shoddy stage. Only Alliance members were present this time, and they soon calmed themselves for Caleb to speak. Most already knew why he was there, and who he is. The audience was now quite, although there were some that whistled for him, and even one girl who shouted 'I love you, Caleb!' With a smile, Caleb began his grueling speech. People liked them though.
"I am speaking to express my dismay and concern over Mr. Varian Wrynn's pompous, sordid codices. Let me get to the crux of the matter: If Mr. Wrynn truly wanted to be helpful, he wouldn't make nearby communities victims of slaughter and toxic waste dumping. He's trapped in a vicious cycle. The more opposition to his inclinations he faces, the surlier he becomes. The surlier he becomes, the more opposition to his inclinations he faces.
It may be soothing and pleasant for Mr. Wrynn to think that war is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength, but if his attempts to clear forests, strip the topsoil, and turn a natural paradise into a dust bowl through a self-induced drought have spurred us to lend a helping hand, then Mr. Wrynn may have accomplished a useful thing. I suggest that we get us out of the hammerlock in which he is holding us. This right and truthful proposition, practically established, will help us criticize Mr. Wrynn's schemes publicly for their formalistic categories, their spurious claims of neutrality, and their blindness to the abuse of private power. If we fail to bear witness to the plain, unvarnished truth then all of our sacrifices will be as forgotten as the sand blowing across Menethil's dead empire. The "decay of that colossal wreck," as the poets of old put it, teaches us that I've long thought it would be fun to try to explain to Mr. Wrynn how his dream is to methodically engineer the people of Azeroth with no frontal lobe to keep them from realizing that he can't throw away his integrity and expect the world to respect him for it. For the most part, I'm just curious as to how deep Mr. Wrynn will have to dig into his profanity thesaurus to formulate a response.
In light of my stance on this issue, I once tried to explain to Mr. Wrynn that his ploys will destroy, debauch, devalue, and dehumanize a wide assortment of innocent people. Rather than feeling ashamed for himself, Mr. Wrynn screamed in my face. What this says is that anyone—you or I or an Eredar just arrived in a flying pod—who wants to cast a ray of light on Mr. Wrynn's soporific cock-and-bull stories should realize that this is clear to every knowledgeable observer. (Yes, Mr. Wrynn treats serious issues callously and somewhat flippantly, but that's an entirely different story.) This is not a question of cronyism or absenteeism. Rather, it is a question about how Mr. Wrynn is often accused of installing a puppet government that pledges allegiance to his neurotic claque. His lieutenants usually respond with a message along the lines of, 'So what? At least Mr. Wrynn isn't increasing society's cycle of hostility and violence.' I suppose there's an argument to be made for that, but aren't we forgetting that stereotyping and victim-blaming is not more respectable when it is performed by a member of the group being demeaned?"
Caleb paused and allowed his audience to absorb the message. They applauded and some even cursed the King of Stormwind's name. Caleb continued.
"I hope it will not disappoint you to learn that Mr. Wrynn is stepping over the line when he attempts to transform our little community into a global crucible of terror and gore—way over the line. If he is going to make an emotional appeal then he should also include a rational argument. Mr. Wrynn accuses me of being irritable whenever I state that he has a driving need to interfere with my efforts to make pretentiousness unfashionable. All right, I'll admit that I have a sharp tongue and sometimes speak with a bit of a poisoned tongue, but the fact remains that Mr. Wrynn has stated that human beings should be appraised by the number of things and the amount of money they possess instead of by their internal value and achievements. One clear inference from that statement—an inference that is never really disavowed—is that he has the mandate of Heaven to provide cover for a dishonest agenda. Now that's just wishy-washy.
Mr. Wrynn's propaganda machine once said that Mr. Wrynn would never sell us fibs and fear mixed with a generous dollop of factionalism. So much for credibility! His policy of showing a clear lack of respect not just for those brave souls who fought and died for what they believed in but also for you, the audience of this speech, must not go unchallenged. To leave it unchallenged is to condone Mr. Wrynn's grandiose plans for world hegemony, plans in which no one is free to say that Mr. Wrynn will probably never understand why he scares me so much. And he does scare me: His expedients are scary, his sentiments are scary, and most of all, I unmistakably dislike him. Likes or dislikes, however, are irrelevant to observed facts, such as that if it were true, as Mr. Wrynn claims, that he defends the real needs of the working class, then I wouldn't be saying that I must decidedly reach out even to my most ostrich-like listeners and show them how violence, mayhem, and insanity are the inevitable consequences of Mr. Wrynn's publications. We can therefore extrapolate that Mr. Wrynn's most inerudite tactic is to fabricate a phony war between counterproductive lumpenproletariats and incoherent scholars. This way, he can subjugate both groups into helping him destroy the heart and fabric of our State. I indisputably don't want that to happen, which is why I'm telling you that I do not appreciate being labeled. No one does. Nevertheless, Mr. Wrynn contends that narcissism resonates with the body's natural alpha waves. What planet is he from? The planet now known as Outland? It would take days to give the complete answer to that question but the gist of it is that Mr. Wrynn's proxies are a subspecies of those oleaginous sods whose pathetic rejoinders and sadistic press releases have become the stuff of legend. The sooner he comes to grips with that reality, the better for all of us."
Caleb stopped for a quick breath, while the audience exploded in cheer, although the whole "Alpha Wave" business didn't make any sense. He waved for them to calm down. He then continued.
"Mr. Wrynn's ultimata are an icon for the deterioration of the city, for its slow slide into crime, disease, and filth. Mr. Wrynn's conjectures are not the solution to our problem. They are the problem.
Like a lion after tasting the blood of its victims, Mr. Wrynn will hurt others physically or emotionally. Currently, he lacks the clout to marginalize dissident voices. But sooner or later, he will have enough helpers to permit belligerent lugs to rise to positions of leadership and authority.
If Mr. Wrynn has any children, I recommend that he teach them about love, trust, cooperation, community, reason, negotiation, and compromise rather than violence, paranoia, and fear. He wants to get me thrown in the Stockade. He can't cite a specific statute that I've violated, but he does believe that there must be some statute. This tells me that I wonder if Mr. Wrynn really believes the things he says. He knows they're not true, doesn't he? To answer that rhetorical question let me just say that Mr. Wrynn's bootlickers believe that uncompanionably, unregenerate recidivists are easily housebroken. Although it is perhaps impossible to change the perspective of those who have such beliefs, I wish nevertheless to provide light, information, and knowledge about Mr. Wrynn's filthy snow jobs.
Mr. Wrynn once heard a vengeful blood elf say, 'Elected democratic governments are not accountable to their own people.' What's amazing is that Mr. Wrynn was then able to use that single quotation plus some anecdotal evidence to convince his spokesmen that clericalism is a noble goal, which makes me wonder, 'Which of the seven great sins of the flesh—pride, envy, anger, sadness, avarice, gluttony, and lust—does he not commit on a daily basis?' After days of agonized pondering and reflection I finally came to the conclusion that I hate it when people get their facts wrong. For instance, whenever I hear some goblin 'fat cat' make noises about how black is white and night is day, I can't help but think that I have never read anything Mr. Wrynn has written that I would consider wise, logical, pertinent, reasonable, or scholarly. His statement that governments should have the right to lie to their own subjects or to other governments is no exception. What's more, you should be sure to let me know your ideas about how to deal with him. I am eager to listen to your ideas and I hope that I can grasp their essentials, evaluate their potential, look for flaws, provide suggestions, absorb feedback, suggest improvements, and then put the ideas into effect. Only then can we halt the adulation heaped upon deceitful, sinful casuists."
Caleb raised his arms again to indicate that he would take questions after the speech. He was almost done, anyways. He continued.
"I know some acrimonious scumbags who actually believe that Mr. Wrynn can achieve his goals by friendly and moral conduct. Incredible? Those same people have told me that he commands an army of machines that live under Stormwind and raise the tremor of fear whenever they feel like shaking things in this great city. With such people roaming about, it should come as no surprise to you that Mr. Wrynn says that he needs a little more time to clean up his act. As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Wrynn's time has run out. Let me close by remarking that if I have succeeded, as I hope and believe I have, in presenting such a combination of facts and arguments as has demonstrated the propriety of bringing meaning, direction, and purpose into our lives, I shall regard it as evidence complete that these lines have been judiciously spoken."
With that, the audience erupted once more. Caleb then proceeded down the stage and towards some eager citizens ready to give their suggestions. Before he could do so however, the main door of the tavern slammed open, gathering everyone's attention towards it. Through the door, walked the King of Stormwind along with several of his personal guard. Caleb made his way through the murmuring crowd and towards Varian.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" The King spoke harshly.
"Merely demonstrating the truth, your highness." Caleb spoke calmly.
Varian Wrynn smiled for a brief moment before grabbing Caleb's neck and dragged him out of the tavern. The crowd although furious and held back by Varian's personal guard, noticed that Caleb wasn't resisting the grasp the King had on his neck.
"You're coming with me!" Varian snarled.
Caleb merely looked on as he was dragged towards the Stockade. He did nothing to resist, hoping to make a martyr of himself.
*Well, there's Chapter 2. If any of you have any suggestions about who I can rip on, send me a message. Again, feedback is appreciated.*