Summer schooled.

Been given another homework assignment: read the Patch 4.2 notes. I guess I think simply by posting links somehow by osmosis they will seep into my brain.

Osmosis POWER! (I want you to imagine this link glowing eerily, radiating life energy and flames)
 http://us.battle.net/wow/en/game/patch-notes/ptr-patch-notes

I was pondering how do players know stuff? For example, how does my paladin friend know when to hit this seal versus that seal, versus this buff or not, depending upon who's in the group? Yes, read Tool Tips. I get that. However, applied knowledge is very different from acquired knowledge. As in life, sometimes the best way to learn something is word-of-mouth by a more experienced mentor. Go go gadget Socrates?

Well, we're all pretty excited about being able to purchase some decent threads with Justice Points, and some new content. Everyone is so fatigued on Tol, and I know one or two players, who, at the very mention of its name, turn sheet white whenever they hear..."Zul...." Although, I have purchased some prime real estate in Zul'Aman. The schools are excellent and the climate is pleasant year 'round.

Time to hit the books again. Want to look sharp.

Theme Song: ZZ Top/Sharp Dressed Man

Sex kitten.

Randomness.

I write in my sleep, and from the quality of this, it will probably show that I am sleep-walking, er, writing.

Part I: Sometimes you get the bear:

If you want your own kitty-cat, and some great information, go to: 

http://www.wowheadnews.com/blog=188009/a-guide-to-patch-4-1s-vanity-items-and-a-wowhead-comic

So, what bedbug bit me? Perhaps it was the excitement of a little dungeon redemption: went into Zul'Aman with Isabeaux the Beautiful yesterday evening in a PUG and received my helm.  It was extremely gracious of Isa, since she, er, he needed/wanted to go into Gurub and pick up a few things. We rolled Aman out of chance and luck (for me). We had a wonderful healer, and in my enthusiasm at one point proposed marriage, but more's the pity, for he said he was already spoken for, to quote: "I have asked another for her hand in marriage, alas." (Um, dude - I wasn't really planning on making an honest man out of you...just got caught up in the moment!) But seriously: this priest kept me ALIVE. And for the most part, was second in DPS finishing up a narrow third. Was overall pretty pleased with my bad self. 

Part II: Sometimes the bear gets you:

To fulfill my promise to Isa, as well as continue the fun, I was very excited to go into Zul'Gurub. We got a guild group together, who are all amazing players. However, once again, I was the weakest link. About a week ago, I mentioned to the guild officer that she and the guildmaster should start a podcast. Their banter, voices, and wit are highly engaging. Their intelligence is lightening fast, and they are funny. But man-oh-man, I just couldn't get in step. They were doing the Argentinian tango, and I was doing the Texas two-step. They dosey'd, and I d'ohd. I had to call it a night again because I had those pesky real-world commitments.  And yet, here I am, five hours later, writing at something that isn't my job. 

Obviously, I want to do as well with my guildmates as I do with PUGs. Better learn to tango. 

Part III: Meanwhile, back at the ranch:

Luperci is on her rotation with the Howling Fjord quests. Matty and Haanta had their turns assisting Scout Knowles, the handsome officer and his horse who are ever-thus looking out over the horizon for danger. This particular image really shows off a draenei girl's height advantage. 

Mountain of Mounts information: http://www.wowheadnews.com/blog=190915/mountain-o-mounts-a-guide-to-collecting-mounts

It's just funny.

Theme song: Do Ya/Peaches 

Medic.

Having an amazing healer along for the battleground ride makes all the difference.

Thank you, my friend.

Awfully glad to see this big Marine,*even if the Marine has purple braids and face tattoos. Semper fi, elf girl.

Luperci on furlough.

Maybe that's where Matty needs to get some healing experience, in battlegrounds: change into some camo, and get out there and take care of business. Our guild needed a healer tonight, and Matty slunk into the shadows and did not answer that call to duty. She was 4-Fand AWOL tonight. To be fair, there was some alt-aholism at play, too. Luperci has a pretty strong desire to be a good tank, and had some beaches to storm.

*Theme song: Camouflage/Stan Ridgeway

Story Time: Chapter 4

The Procession

Blackberry Winter

-4-

The trees’ shadows ticked as clock hands against the sunlit grass, sweeping off the minutes under the dirt.

The cobblestones witnessed, but would not testify: Matty’s face turned on its axis, like the jealous moon stares and steals the earth’s second-hand light from the sun: stealing the looks, thieving the glance, pilfering the moment. Her eyes locked on the young woman’s position. Imagine a stargazer’s crude model of the sun and planets: the center star punctured by metal rods spindling the rocky, bobbing planets, spiked and imprisoned. Her eyes did not leave the procession. She was the moon gazing at earth.

The entourage of servants, litter carriers, handmaidens, and bodyguards resembled a walking garden path, a botanical imagery. They all wore silk robes embroidered with lemon yellow and mint silk flowers on fields of white, golden braided thread crackled the fabric, with long, thicker rope braids of gold tied around their waists and breasts. Their hair was swept up in elaborate stacks, and songbirds sang in golden cages, swung from brass poles carried by children. The group was comprised of elves and humans.

If Matty considered the feelings of the fixation of her gaze, the young woman at the center, she would have been unnerved further. Mat’s own dusty dryness of spirit blew over the boiling mess of her insides. There was no heart, there was no stomach, or throat: all of her internal organs felt as if they had melted together and may dissolve in heat. The beautiful bride was solid and steady. And as the moon does not think about the rumblings or calm of the earth’s core, nor does it care. It is only jealous of the light of the sun that shines on it. This was the day of her eclipse, her light being overshadowed.

Although the young bride’s breath blew shallow against the stays of her dress, there was no nervous fidget: her confident resolve was her birthright: this was her love, and he loved her. He had been promised to her. And they were to be together forever. She didn’t even think about it. Never crossed her mind that a piece of him was never going to be wholly hers.

Matty’s own breath was not so calm. Warning of a storm does not decrease fear. She had known about this for minutes, hours, and eternity.

It is difficult to know, to capture, a point, a fixated point, when the resolution has made a choice, or destiny stands. The trajectory of fate is too entrenched. But this is how she knew. She knew.

On an indigo night, they vowed a damning promise: if they were to part, if the ashes rained over them, and the other found another to marry, they would get word to one another. Promise.

They didn’t speak of what they would do if they ever had to say the words: “I am getting married.” Would the other flail against the sides of the wall, or simply say, “I wish you both well?” But in the moment of the promise she saw that her future as his wife was dissolved. Her prescient vision was the truth of fate. He was trying to tell her he loved her, but had other binding promises, when they made this terrible deal.

She had no idea, no hint; she was so naïve, that his parents had underscored a silent betrothal to the daughter of a wealthy business associate. He knew her, of course, and if he knew of this arrangement, never told Matty. The family connection may have seemed inconsequential to him. His family would come to love and accept Mat, and what was a serious contract would become a joke, a trifle.

He mentioned her name over the years, that she was a good friend, good family friend, from a good family. Deeply good.

And this deeply good family maneuvered a lot of gold flowing in and out of the auction house and street vendors. (Gossip told of when the gold-clover prices collapsed, the patron of the family lost every piece of gold: however, they still had their noble name, and that was worth plenty in prestige. One can always make more money, but one can’t create lineage.)

Matty never stood a chance in the path of a wealthy agenda. The gold was too strong.  Her mother had taken Matty’s face in her hands, and tried to warn her that a mixed love would never work.  She was a creature, an animal, compared to the elves, humans, dwarfs, and gnomes. Her own lineage was questionable. On one occasion, to her deep humiliation, she was at his manor, and a visiting houseguest made a bawdy comment on how her tail “worked.” The group laughed, as did she, but she realized later he did not take up for her. Maybe she was taking herself too seriously. What was the real harm, after all?

So, he sent her a goblin messenger, not a scroll, to let her know the day was coming. And her response was: "I wish him well." 
Between the space of their initial inseparability, and the time when their families had taken them away from each other, across worlds, she to the east, and he to the west, opposite points from true north. that is where the promise thinned. There is no real blame: he had adventures and gees to fulfill: she had yet to fully discover that she was powerful. They both ill-used their gifts, and broken each other’s hearts. Simple as that. And when he sent the missive, it was with no small amount of retribution. He felt she had been disloyal: if she had been truly worthy, she would have locked herself in a tower. Conversely, if he had been truly hers, he would have flown in the face of his family’s wishes.

But they didn’t.

Simple as that.

She could not know at that moment that there was more than love, sometimes. More than white dresses and blessings. More than sanctification or approval. Her mother had known this, but it was a lesson that couldn’t be taught by rote instruction. She would learn she possessed a part of him that was hers and hers alone. It was not lost.

She watched the procession shimmer into the cathedral district. She wished herself at Guarf’s. She hoped he wasn’t there. 

She just needed some time.

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

An army of one.

Contemplating on last night's play a bit more, I talked to my favorite cross-dressing rogue who plays a lot of battlegrounds. He currently also has a draenei paladin who has decked herself out in all purple PvP gear, and generally focuses on battlegrounds. Since I lost every battle I did last night (did we win the war, though? Well, if the goal was to have fun, then yes), I wanted to know his thoughts on how much one player affects change in outcome. His analysis of the different battlegrounds and their strategies was insightful: depending on size and teamwork, it can make or break the results. Ultimately, though, if it's a war of attrition, meaning it comes down to having to take out two players for every one of yours, or working as a cohesive group to down one big boss, such as Alterac Valley, it's important to practice, train, and think. PvP is unique in philosophy and style. He said if he could change one thing, though, about the culture of PvP, it would be a banishment of all the battle rage during a loss. I have been in good, solid battlegrounds where a group leader will issue calm, clear directions. True steely-eyed missile men. One can hardly imagine the Tom Hank's character in Saving Private Ryan yelling at the soliders during the invasion, "NOOOOOOOB!" Most of the time, and this is sad to say, players are doing the best they can in the chaos. It's not pretty, it's not organized, and good elves die. When he spent some time on the Horde side, he said the rage was just as emphatic and pervasive. A lot of blame gets thrown around, and not much damage. Sticks and stones break those bones, folks, and nerd rage doesn't touch them.

I did have a lot of fun yesterday, but I know my friend and I would have had a lot more fun if we had won a few. It's not like we didn't try. He even got into the relic room in Strand of the Ancients: and that event is what sparked the conversation with the rogue: can one player affect the outcome of a battleground? Like a good sports team, the answer is "no." It has to be a concentrated, or somewhat coordinated effort; but even if the group does everything right, the other team may have a slight advantage when the buzzer rings. There will be a winner, and there will be a loser. Nerd rage on a real-world scale may mean overturned cars and riot gear. 

Even in times of great conflict, heroes find time to kiss and comfort the damsels

So, I've enlisted again, and will see how it goes. Hoping for more Inglorious Basterds (WIN!) and less Full Metal Jacket.

Alt-ernatives

Lupe is no longer feeling like she can't find busfare. In fact, the royal coach took her wherever she needed to go. And there was no pumpkin surprise at the end.

Got clued in to some guild perks, PvP vendors in Dal, dungeons, dragons, and even got a few kills and achievements in battlegrounds.

And again, while there are some awkward shuffles about asking if Mat can just stay in her box for awhile, (more like, "Hey, Matty, is your sister home?") Haanta and Luperci both were asked to join the world. Wish I could clone my human self sometimes and have played both, but alas, can only inhabit one virtual world at a time.

Zep got her chance to strut her stuff last night with a silly PUG: finished Blackrock and decided to play house and musical chairs. Very funny and nice group. It can happen. Didn't want to leave, which is the sign of a great party.

Who's been sitting in my chair? Who's been eating my porridge? Druid is baby bear, of course. I play the eternal Goldilocks. Breaking and entering? Got a rap sheet a mile long.

Have a wedding to go to tomorrow: nice to get out of these jeans and T-shirts and put on something more girly-girl. And I am wearing my big-girl shoes. Gotta represent the draenei posture/height as best I can. And my friend: I'll work on getting Lupe into a few more purples and her big-girl shoes, too. As with your tank, you are a world-class healer. Made it possible for me to actually see what it's like to kill Horde in a battleground without dying immediately. And as you could tell from how many hornets' nests I like to step in, that is saying something.



Theme songs:
By the Way/RHCP

What? This old thing!?

Interesting perspective on heirloom gear: http://www.furlinedteacup.com/bibleofdreams/2011/06/has-the-tyranny-of-boa-gear-ruined-alt-leveling-dungeons.html

That is a loaded, but dead-on word choice: "tyranny."

It is tyranny that ruins game play quite often, as it does, well, the world.

I had no idea that 'to heirloom or not to heirloom' was a big deal. A new guild member was throwing around some philosophical chatter about it the other day about how he missed the good old days. He says he's 17, so I'm not sure how good-old he can be. (Shrugging so much it looks like a human male shoulder roll motion.)

Luperci and Zeptepi have a few pieces, sure. Not too concerned, or at least I wasn't. The real work for a new wardrobe happens at level 80 now anyway. I don't have a weapons' room or closet full of gear: you know my bags are filled with junk and letters. (But it's important! I might need to read that letter again someday!)

But it's funny: I was feeling somewhat disloyal to not wanting to play...that shaman...as much lately. And I am not a raider ("not yet/will ever be?" yin-yang spin-out ), but something kind of snapped lately, not quite sure what: maybe it's been real world stuff, maybe the overwhelming desire or fantasy that I'll get the whisper: "Hey, Matty, come do this raid! We need you!," and I hop in there, down the boss with the highest DPS, everyone gets amazing loot, but mostly me, and hooray! And I sweep my long blond hair behind my new shoulder armor, wink at a dwarf or two, and fly away into the pink cotton-candy sunset.

"What would we do without her?!" 

But that is not the validation (and it would be greatly unearned) that is offered in Azeroth. So, I am finding some new pathways. Stumbled across this beautiful blog, too: Manalicious, and this article on alts. 

Theme Song: Devil with a blue dress on....

I need an old priest and a young priest.

While my irrational disloyalty to my first WoW character Mataoka needs to be quieted, I have a confession to make:

I really like being on the dark side.

Fade into you.

All this little priestess has done to level are dungeons and travel a bit. That's it. Gallons of mana later, she made it to level 54. But, there is a cool mount in Winterspring, the Winterspring Frostsaber, so while the rest of the Goat Sisters are getting theirs, thought she'd do the dailies, too. Considering this questing area is about her level, she touched down on snowy ground and proceeded to be mauled by about four frostsaber tigers in no time. Torn to shreds. Ripped. Dead. A lot. Stupid much?

While sharing the silliness of trying to start a quest in the wrong spec, my dear priest friend sends me instructions on what to do. This is definitely his area of expertise. He is no angel, this one. While training, discovered this: being a shadow priest is wicked awesome (say in a Boston accent please)!
(Again, gracias senor: you always help me so much: you knew it was fun, didn't you?)

Before you go screaming in terror or puking pea green soup, I don't need an exorcist. Healing with this priestess is first priority. But tigers, lions, and bears don't need band-aids, so they're fair sacrificial game.

Theme Song: Banana Boat Song/Beetlejuice.

Beetlejuice.

Beetl...


But when you need a great leveling guide, pray to Psynister on Priest Holy Specs

Angel Zep

Poacher.

I apologize for so liberally borrowing blog content, but this, well, just struck me as funny:

http://forthebubbles.wordpress.com/2011/06/13/insert-vent-session-here/

Flaming Bag Worked!

No "Boo!" or "Argh!" this morning.


Just "OH!"

Ah, sweet, sweet drake: thou art mine at last.

Thank you, Guarf.