The story you’re about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Mataoka wandered around the grounds of her own estate–a magnificent, palatial estate. From her humble beginnings, however, she felt uncomfortable as ‘lady of the manor,’ with awkward and sheepish interactions with the grounds staff and security, sensing a small amount of paranoia. She had yet to take full command of her troops, as her title and rank suggested.
While picking flowers in the herb garden, the gardeners standing aside, rooted in place, a small monster leapt out from the dirt, biting, scratching, gnawing: it overcame her best abilities and killed her! It half-covered her body in peat moss and potting soil; as she ran back from the grave, furious, embarrassed, and seeking vengeance over a house plant, she arrived back at the scene of the crime to find one of the footmen rousted from the drinking hall dispatching the plant. Where was this trooper when the plant was making Mataoka allergic…allergic to living? For Velen’s sake–sitting in a Rylak Claw shop on her hind-quartmasters?
Mataoka saw it all clearly. Not only would she need a bodyguard to pick flowers, but would have to take full command and be the leader they all expected her to be. This was nothing to sneeze at, and it smelled like elekk fertilizer.
I am man enough to admit when I am wrong. Kam was right – it’s not so bad going through with a few characters. Why this about-face? Well, if I hadn’t taken Zeptepi through yesterday, I never would have noticed this:
Nor would I have seen Zep’s smoky trail of gun powder animation:
There will be all kinds of surprises for each character, as well as learning from past mistakes. Already Zep got her enchanting shack up and running, and with the help of my younger cub, I learned how to tame a baby meadowstomper and add followers to my professions. When I watched him go over the bridge with ease, he said, “It’s okay–sometimes unless you see, it it’s hard to know what to do.” This is in contrast with young leet druid: JUST READ THE TOOL TIP (and then apologizes for being impatient).
My next big challenge is to find some patience to get Mataoka up to gear level to do Molten Core. I play this game behind all the time, but need to remember to relax. I shouldn’t look at all the players ahead of me, but instead remember to help those behind me. I’m here, leaving a trail of gun powder and underpants.
PS: One time I didn’t read the tool tip. I caught this rubber duck and promptly threw it in the water to see if it would float, versus to a companion pet. It sank.
I am dreading going through this content x4, or x5. Who do I leave behind? Zeptepi, who is a master tailor and enchanter? Momokawa, who is an excellent herbalist and alchemist? What about Kellda? Inscription and herbalist, and power-house of damage? Maybe Haanta gets left behind, but with her leather-working and skinning, she is my second true love. Okay, then Ceniza, fiery mage of passion and humor? Sorry, Lady Ceniza, you’re not welcome?
Why can’t I have ALL my ladies of Draenor come live in the same garrison, under one roof?
November is like tax season for me, if I were an accountant. It’s the longest shortest month. I’m not complaining, I’m blessed and grateful–just telling myself to be patient with myself while I get it all done.
I remember when I first started getting friends on this blog, how I would steal every second to scribble story ideas. The muse was strong with this one. Now something has shifted, the tide has gone out, and I’m not sure when its pull will return. But if there was ever a time to get writing fan-fic again, this would be it.
And just like in the past when I don’t read notes or blogs, I have made many expensive garrison mistakes. I am not sure what to do or how to fix them. One success, however, is Haanta’s focused energy to save and love an orphaned frostwolf. Many mixed allegiances–so conflicted.
Anyway, will you help me name her, Haanta’s frostwolf?
See? Right here? Ken Loggin. He is the patron saint of 1970s-1980s pop music and I’m sure, logging in. So, I made it in to Draenor. And once again I am reminded what a punk I am. I am so lucky to have a warm home, and a caddy shack to build. To Azeroth! The Danger Zone!
Years ago, CD Rogue showed me this photo series a husband took of his wife when she missed the Ice Cream Man.
This was me tonight:
Yes, that’s me, crying under a warlock robe my son put on me when he took pity on my sorry self. I’m doing everything I can to avoid reading blogs about conquests and happiness, while I see from Hearthstone (which I’ve lost repeatedly) my Battletag friends in zones of Garrisons and Joy. Leveling! Happy! Saving Azeroth! Saving Azeroth ALL OVER THE PLACE.
Is this writing one of “those” letters to Blizzard worth it? Is it time to go goblin and demand reparations? I’m just too heartsick. I have to go to bed now because I have a big presentation tomorrow, but do want to stop and wish Tome a VERY happy birthday! Don’t mind me, Tome, while I cry under this blanket, okay?
So what’s a Draenei to do but curl up in a fetal position by the fire on a cold night, and read The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell, and try to get a better attitude? We finally watched Maleficent, but my heart wasn’t really in it. When I went back to check on my queue, I saw the screen, and there smiling like Aurora on a prom date was Mataoka, beckoning me! CLICK CLICK LADY CLICK! AND THUNK – nada. No go.
Crawling back under the blankets now. At least the dust bunnies love me.
Flipperbertyflappityfloo, this sucks. Turns out the least of the problems the good citizens of Azeroth faced yesterday were the Iron Horde, but expert DDOS hackers (aka scum of the f*cking earth), made sure that many users, including myself, were prevented from enjoying the expansion. It took hours after work, and I was finally able to at least go to Saurfang, hang out with Navimie and other awesome Frostwolves, and have Escarlata run through play up until garrisons, and then I had to go to bed. In no small measure did I feel disloyalty to Mataoka, stuck forever on Whisperwind, locked out, and not in any place to get rested XP. When I finally am able to log on, she is gonna be PISSED. Hell hath no fury like an enhancement shaman prevented from leveling up.
I think what really irks me are the consequences of their actions. They do it because they can, and what’s frightening is that they must be practicing for real-world terroristic hacks. Breaking into a game is serious enough, but this is their practice run for bigger world fish. But that’s intentional: the unintended or “added bonus” to their shenanigans is that one little over-worked woman in Western Washington wasn’t allowed to wash the day away and delve horn-first into fantasy. So I wake up at 4:30 am, thinking about my real world, and real stresses, and there was no antidote. Does one little me matter in the bigger schemes? Of course not. I can’t let my nerd rage get to me. I’ll save that for getting my tail handed to me in Hearthstone.