This old thing?

Been searching for some new mog ideas, and with all the trips to Karazhan lately, just thought I should do a bit more research. These banshees have many different names, including this Wanton Hostess. What exactly is a Wanton Hostess? Does she find you a booth in the back and then get her sleazy vibe all over you? Does she put peppermints on the tip tray but lick them first? How wanton is she? Anyway, I've always kind of dug her look. The hair and ears are a hot mess, but the shear scalloped petticoat is still to die for:

 Then of course there is the dinner party, and noticed Lady Keira Berrybuck.

The only shot I have of Lady Berrybuck is her on the floor, but in researching her she looks like she's wearing a pink chiffon Moondress, and part of a bigger circle of nobles. In fact, the Nobles of Darkshire! Now that is an elite group! Man, if they weren't dead, I'd bet they'd be on a kick-ass raiding team!

There are plenty more, of course, but for another time. There are other old things, er, business, I want to bring up.

Even though I click on Bear's blog constantly, somehow Tome saw this first: We All Want to Be Special. Recently I read this post by Prinnie (whom I adore) and it made a lot of sense. I've been having many conversations about elitism, fairness, or the mythology of fairness, achievements, etc. CD Rogue and I were out for a brew the other evening, and the Stanley Cup was playing. I like hockey, but CDR says only live. His opinion was that sports that rely on the other team making a mistake, as opposed to offering up strategies, etc. were not interesting to him. We decided to put this to the test for many such 'games' including WoW and chess. Soccer, hockey are on one end of the spectrum, where only if one makes a mistake is there a goal. Games like basketball are a war of attrition, and perhaps with baseball somewhere in between. Chess on the other hand, requires the forward march of planning ahead. Depending on your play style and life philosophy may make you drawn to one or not. This is not to say that soccer and hockey players don't work their asses off in training, strategies, etc.*

Where does WoW fit it with all this? Well, all over the place. The elite raiding guilds will never, ever be threatened by the other players. Never. But--like little dogs who have big barks, some players think they're part of that club, and they make big noises. Just today Señor was telling me about an experience he had last night:

Why did the geared mage think it was important or valuable to tell the other mages what to do? I know for a fact my friend has been playing for years, and plays for relaxation and fun. And you see his last comment? He gave no oxygen to the geared mage's fire. I only know the coolest people--yes, guess I'm an elite in that way.

But --wasn't I just saying a few hundred posts ago we needed something like Flex Raiding? I think I called it 'free agent raiding.' Wonder if it's going to be like that.

In the meantime, I'll just keep rolling along, leveling pets, peeking in LFRs for loot, and writing my little stories. I think those are pretty damn leet, some of the time anyway.

*Mr. Snerggulsssss here: The publishers of Sugar & Blood, while not retracting any comments, wish to add this addendum: the goals of sports like hockey and soccer are made by seizing opportunities of errors, not implying any negative connotation in the word "error" but in a sports vernacular. See comments below. Thank you, that is all.

Unsung Heroine: Moira

We believe one of two things: people can change, or they can't. There is plenty of evidence to support both theories. However, if any of you give one iota of credit to King Varian, or King of Chins, for pulling together the Dwarf clans, we will have to have a wee bit of a chat, because make no mistake: Moira is our heroine. She transformed from a spoiled brat to saving the Alliance. Quite a transformation indeed.  Consider mothers have to be fierce, and look out for their babes. Whatever her motivations --maturity, loyalty, or seeing the 'big picture' - don't leave her role out of any discussion on who's brave and true.


--A Draenei's reflection on Dwarfs

Celtic Bagpipe Music: For the Love of a Princess

dream....

Dream!

Forge yourself and rise

Out of your mind and into others.

Men, be women.

Fish, be flies.

Girls, take beards.

Sons, be your mothers.

The future of the world now lies

In coral wombs behind our eyes.

--A song sung in Paradise Street

Abarat: Absolute Midnight, Clive Barker copyright 2011

Color me happy!

Perfect fit!

 My BlogAzeroth shared topic got on the Twisted Nether site!

http://www.twistednether.net/2013/06/09/shared-topic-junk-mail-or-repurposed/

And while perusing through the WoW-Wiki site, I came across this list of zone changes: http://www.wowwiki.com/Area_ideas

The one that really caught my eye was the 'good' and 'bad' Bloodsail. Man, that would have saved me a lot of gold and cloth.

10 Days of Pet Battling: Design a pet...

I am not the leet pet battler/collector club as Tome, Navi, Cymre, Luxy, McTacky, and my in-game friend Turk. Even WoWInsider joined the conversation. Clearly--anyone who spends more than say, five hours including travel time on The Longest Day and has to borrow pets does not have a clue. But my therapist says I'm making progress, and that twitch in my right eye has lessened!

But the word is out (Navi, if this was your shared topic will you tell me? I haven't been doing a great job keeping up with this lately), that the round table discussion topic is pet battling, and al it entails. One of the sub-topics is designing a pet. Well, that's interesting! I'll bite! Grabs a bowl of Scooby Snacks and coffee, and joins in!

Side-thought: How did you guys do those great graphics, with the little spells and all? I can't figure that out right now, so moving on...

Let me share some thoughts on some pet-battle abilities I've borrowed from real life that I think would be deadly:

Competitive Cat Breeder Woman:

There is someone in my family who breeds Persian Cats, and has for years. This person would bring any of ya'll to your knees in terms of time, travel, money, and obsessiveness. The best attack is "I'm sorry I can't come to xyz function because of a cat show. Hope everyone freezes in time because I'll miss them growing up." Powerful.

Middle-School Girl Sucker Punch

This ability uses ten+stacks of lipgloss and texting in the toilet that includes flame-wars, facepalms, and an incredible 'talk to the hand' block. Nothing gets past this. Nothing.

Bad Small Pet Choices

This is perhaps one of the most insidious of pet abilities: the small caged animal in the house. We've been through two hedgehogs, one rat, five hamsters, a gerbil, and now a chinchilla in the Matty-Shack. Their abilities include spending a lot of time and money buying special foods, housing, treatment and care. But the greatest of all attacks is 'Flying Litter and Small Poop On Carpet" attack. It destroys vacuum cleaners and lives. Believe me.

Small Dog with Small Bladder

In the middle of every LFR, every final boss, or anything that cannot be interrupted and requires focus, my dog Snickers preternaturally knows this, and whines to go outside. Granted, this is the dog who is home all day and goes out in the morning and right after work. From that point on, if I'm playing, he will need to go out 15,699 times.

Return to Sender Dog Poop

In Spain, there has been such an issue with owners not picking up after their dogs it has come down to this: mailing it back to them. The public poo rate has dropped by 70%. This pet ability would be akin to Fezwick's tossing 'bananas.' Boy, those bananas sure are brown. If you choose this abilitiy during a fight, you will win the pet battle guaranteed, but there's a catch: three days later you would get the poo mailed back to you, costing 1000 gold COD. Yes, it's wrapped. You're welcome.

Hooked

This is the superlative villainous ability of all: the pet battles are so engaging, so addictive, that one cannot stop. Its master is Burgle, the Dancing Murloc. Every time I see him, I laugh, giggle, and make an ass out of myself, and keep coming back for more.

Theme Song: Atomic Dog

Jeni Won the Internet...

Everyone, give up. It's over. See comment from Goblins & Gnomes, etc.:

What? Trolls smell? (Shawndra sniffs in the general direction of her armpit, accidentally sticking her sword up some poor bystander's nose) Didn't notice :D I'm sure Delgada has a lovely embalming fluid smell about her, left over from the preservative they gave her upon rising from the tomb. Have to preserve what's left of her girlish figure, right? I imagine Carlatta smells like old sweat and dust. Durotar was a hot place to grow up, and you don't leave your home without some kind of accent. Lulubelle, well, warm cow is a familiar smell. She doesn't hang out near the manure pile, so I think her slight beastly odor is augmented by the smell of freshly "mowed" grass. As for the blood elves I try not to name, if they smell of anything less than the most expensive perfume, no one would dare tell them for fear of what magic doom might befall them.

Trolls, from lore in and out of game, are very dirty creatures. They eat raw meat, they live in mostly unimproved shelters, they hang out under bridges and exact tolls. Would they be as fearsome if they smelled like rain water and kept their hair in more civilized style than dreadlocks?

Tiny Story Time: Top Hat

Jeremy Feasel tossed his verdigris velvet top hat on the varnished trunk. His plan continued to work. Pocket the Eye, a bait-and-switch, three-card-monte scam, and the Draenei girl would return. He didn't acknowledge the presence of a malnourished goblin maid named Ranucul, who trailed him, offering comfort and services as he needed. She picked up the hat, brushed it with care, and set it on the mannequin's head, a perfect replica of Jeremy. The false head looked at her lovingly, she imagined, and she gave it a little kiss, for luck. A small grease spot stained the lips.

The Darkmoon Faire founds its new home in autumn. The weather never changed in its plasticized, protected, and private locale. Only the phase of the moon told the carnies, fire jugglers, barkers, and grizzled roustabouts it was time for fresh wave of innocent fair goers. Low-hanging fruit, easy pickings one and all. And they came, one and all.

Feasel kept the pets: a tonk, full of spit and power; Fezwick, a fez-wearing monkey of such a foul disposition, such atrocious, simian hate, he should have been put down years ago (he got into the Dwarfs' stout and pissed in the fresh-squeezed lemonade--those were the gentlest of his deeds); and the crown-jewel -- The Darkmoon Eye. This Eye was no match for her dragon, a child of Deathwing.  But she was a mage, and mages want magic, all they can greedily get. She underestimated Feasel, month after month. She didn't know she wasn't fighting a fair fight; she was fighting lust.

At first, she just walked away, bandaging her dragon, or mending her mechanical squirrel. She came every day of the faire. Her qualified team won match after match, and he would hand her the greasy, creased crushed blue velvet bag. She would open it, and usually find a few tickets, a cage or broken leash, and a hairball or two.

Then she began to slap him.

And then hate him.

It was now summer.

Hate turned to indifference. With this, he knew he was losing her. But he had no more tricks up his sleeve, and no more rabbits in his hat. (No more rabbits because Jeremy was a terrible magician, but a wonderful grifter.) He didn't know what to do, because he knew at some point, if she got the pet, she would stop, and if she didn't, she would leave, too. She didn't strike him as a patient mage.

Ranucul visited Rona Greenteeth. Rona fed the goblin a dumpling, then provided the cure upon trade of an ascot pin and hair strand. In the puce hat band (dyed with blood and set in the heat of dark, smoky fires), she tucked the tincture packet. If all worked as planned, Jeremy would relinquish the Eye, the girl would vanish, and Ranucul would owe Rona a huge debt.

The Faire is still in town, and the moon is still full. Tomorrow offers waning chances.

Goblins, Gnomes, and Calling All Angels

Calling All Angels, real, bottled, and virtual

The other day Tome posted a fascinating post about her observations about there being filth and flies in Orgrimmar. She noticed that there were flies buzzing around when an Alliance character stepped on the scene, but none when a Horde character did. Granted she gets so many comments with all her posts, but this one really sparked some conversation, more so than usual. I tried to tell everyone that sometimes I didn't see any flies with my Alliance characters, and if it is a "thing," perhaps it's the manure on the boots of the Alliance characters, and they are the rude ones. Ah, the consternation. The debate was on. Well damn. My fatal flaw: lastworditis. I really love both sides, and think each have something to offer. If adding flies or not determines the character flaws of any particular allegiance, then oh Blizzard, why, why?!

Goblin Dance

You all know--of course, because you are intelligent folks--that any meltdown at my so-called 'IRL' profession never seems to dissipate as fast as a shaman's healing tide totem. I said I was sorry! But after a conversation with a caring colleague (oh, he really should play a priest or druid--what a wonderful person), who just let me cry and rail, it occurred to me that the animosity of the group is really just a good old-fasthioned "let's turn on one another" pack mentality. The mentality, the fall, that never recognizes or sees the villain in the lair, using his fingers as temples, roofs falling and rising with knuckles and tips, laughing quietly as his plan comes to fruition. However, the evil forces of corruption, villainy, and friends, did not cause my ignominious response. I cannot tolerate lack of imagination. And this intolerance costs me dearly.

But there is a cure. In fact, there are many. And you might miss them, unless you look very carefully. They come in deceptive shapes, usually lithe Blood Elf, practical warm Dwarf, or soft-spoken Night Elf.

These images are soothing to me, delight me, and inspire me. The above is from Pictorial Arts, a place I visit when I want to be sprinkled by burnt umber, Titian red, and wise brushstrokes. The gnomes were irreverent impostors of guilded garden gnomes at the Chelsea show of shows.

Chelsea Gnomes

A few other important things need to be said. I just burned the rice for dinner because I was too busy writing. It's okay. It was the second pan-ful. The first batch was delicious. Yellow curry, scallions, fresh chicken, and basmati rice with pepper and butter, soy, and ginger. Now the house smells like burnt popcorn with an Asian edge. Okay, back to important things.

Kallixta sent me a pet.  I don't have a screenshot handy, because it's on the other computer, and I'm in the living room with burnt rice smell and happiness. That's life though, isn't it? Wait-no--stop --no metaphors about burnt rice. Stop it. But yes, happiness. I know someone creative, intelligent and kind like Kallixta. What an angel.

Thank you Kallixta. I am sending you these gnomes.

Also--while fishing in the Dalaran fountain Ceniza struck up a conversation with a very kind druid. His real life story is he serves on the USS Laboon, and he is one of the nicest players I've met in a long time.

For you, working on your Salty title, I wish I could bestow it upon you

And as busy Navimie is, she is never too busy to send a wave, and Cymre is never too busy to answer a question, and Iocane is never too busy to talk about sweet, gentle things going on in the world, Erinys is never too busy to explain British colloquialisms, and Turkic is never too busy to try to help me wrangle a pet, Tome who is never too busy to ponder life's bigger questions, and Señor is never too busy to tell me a joke and make me feel better. One day at a time, right sir?

So to all my angels, no matter what package you come in, you are a blessing and boon to me.


Angels and Sailors/the Doors

Never pay retail...

I will not abide another toe.

Wrathion says to me:

Since you have failed to achieve,

even in the modest task which was your charge,

since you have stolen my money,

since you have unrepentantly betrayed my trust...

I have no choice

but to tell these bums to do whatever is necessary

to recover their money from you, Jeffrey Lebowski.

Don't judge.

Don't.

I came into the World (of Warcraft) a noob, and a noob I shall remain. I cannot seem to get past the Wrathion's Task quest. I foolishly thought I could go in there, step on a few sha, scrape them off my boots, and be on my merry way. Nope. 

Now for those of you who aren't done with 5.2 silliness though we are WELL into 5.3 (sheesh! what is wrong with you?! Keep up!) I don't want to spoil anything. But let's just say I'm not as badass as I thought I was. I had to....

...

...

....watch a video.

Wish me luck. 

In the meantime, at least I have great friends who share the wealth of pets:

Turk the Tideskipper