Being a newshound, I couldn’t help but notice some concerning details with the new Hearthstone packs: namely, a whole lot of political forces came crawling out of the wormwood from Darkshire, and the main town of Duskwood.
Now we all know and love Duskwood, Darkshire: the townsfolk are full of mystery, and never seem to tire of searching for lost necklaces, stargazing, and talking about ghosts and ale with the seductive tavern mistresses at the Scarlet Raven Tavern.
But something…something is spooky about this. There’s talk of xenophobic mishandlings of the Goblin Insurrection of ’07, not to mention that rumors are flying that the Scarlet Raven has been bought by an off-shore contingency with a Dalaran address. Some say the new councilor plans on building a wall around the town and making Westfall pay for it. And don’t forget the underground sewer movement of millennial mages wanting free tuition at the Lady Jane School of Magic. Climate and pollution protesters have been marching incessantly at the Booty Bay fishing tourneys, too, charging the Big Fel Companies with fracking poisons. (Activists discovered an assortment of fel-debris choking the reefs. That Legion rain comes at a cost!) Some warlock from the Slaughtered Lamb also touts her political savvy and “turn” –no one is quite sure what she’s talking about but she seems to be very assured that she is next in line for something and has sent her minions to post flyers around the town obstructing others from reading public postings. (Ravenholdt Manor hasn’t made an official statement, but underground reports of Stormwind financing seem to hold water.) An older paladin with white hair and a gravelly voice speaks nothing but truth and his warriors continue to zealously fight for the light. They will never yield to the questionable antics of warlocks, and have made it clear. Meanwhile, a demonic imp holds tomes high in the air but covers the runes so the good citizens of Azeroth can’t read it, but many say he is in cahoots with Sargarean forces. Spokespeople from the Sargarean Cults confirm, however, he was denied membership. He was, in their words, “a miserable son of a bitch.”
Meanwhile, Darkshire’s public buildings continue to have large DURUMPF signs raised to the top of the towers while lower-income dwellings have been razed to rubble. Abercrombie’s makeshift hidey-hole tower is gone, as is Madame Eva’s shack. In their places are a Wholeylight Food market and Starkbacks. Suspicious.
Be on the lookout, good citizens of Azeroth: watch for creep in gold prices and angry mobs. Things are getting a little too interesting for this Draenei. Time to get back on the ship and fly north.
So. Um. So. *Digs big hoof in the dirt, pretending not to hear…* I have been playing WoW for a fairly long time. And yet, in so many ways I am still such a noob. Call it imposter syndrome, call it fate, call it what you will, but to this day I can still get kicked from a group because I can’t jump in the VELEN-DAMNED
WALING CAVERNS ENTRANCE.Blackfathom Deeps (Sigh: Can’t even get the name right!)
A few weeks back, there was a Hearthstone deal: level a character to 20 and the reward is a new heroine, Lady Liadrin. Her hammer burns with Holy Fire, ya know, (and as CD Rogue said, she should see a doctor about that…). She is very serious about that paladin thing. So, because I fail at most things now, why not pick a character for redemptive qualities, another warlock? And of all the new character models, warlocks are the best.
Bexxa, the Troll Warlock, even with her big three-toed feet couldn’t coordinate her space bar timed properly with forward motion. Yes, I was removed from a level 20-ish dungeon because I couldn’t jump over rocks. They were clearing everything fine without me, so instead of waiting for my ill-coordinated goofiness to jump, I got all the more nervous, kept failing, and they summarily kicked me out.
To them, it was this important:
And as far as that Hearthstone thing, it’s become an unhealthy addiction. I hate myself for playing it, and how bad I am after all this time. Now, you should know something else: I NEVER, and I mean NEVER win at the Hearthstone Arenas. No, I don’t read strategies. I’d rather bitch about it.
Here’s what I have learned:
Anything else? Nope, not much. It’s a perfect game for the process-addicted such as myself. I long for the day when pet battles are made for phones/tablets. I never log in and say to myself, “Gee, I’d really like to see pets die in game,” but I would if it was on my tablet and I could play during lunch breaks, etc. I have no real raiding life anymore, and once in a while will mess around with mogging:
So that’s about it for now. I’m trying to stay calm during this election cycle. It is truly…crazy. I have long-time friends telling me how wrong I am, (don’t ask), and honestly have just been burying my noggin in books and getting my tail handed to me at Hearthstone.
Yes, sometimes I am an introvert.
This is epic:
Right now I am kicking myself because of all the things I’ve said “Yes, I’ll do that!” and I want to back the flip OUT. Damn my ambiverted self! The extrovert says “SURE LET’S PUT ON A SHOW!” and the introverted side rouses itself too late and says “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, SHIT WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” CD Rogue got some disappointing news yesterday that affects both of us and came home asking “Who do I sue to get my life back?” I don’t know. Stupid political shit we’ve known for years is hard to fight. And even my beloved escape to Azeroth seems cheesy and tawdry. Everything is just too f*cking hard right now. Want a mount from Time dungeons? Oh, you’ll have to do 5,483 of them over 5 weeks. Want to raid? Oh, you can’t because your diabetic spouse needs dinner. Want pretty gear like that druid up there? Nope. You’ll have to make do with what you have. The problem is there is no single dragon to slay: there are thousands of snakey-problems, slithering and deceptive, so that when one seems to be defeated another thirty rear their ugly hydra-like heads. If we defeat one evil Drumpf , a villainous, lying Kruz will infiltrate and forget all maxims of church and state and all that other critical stuff that’s kept us from the Spanish Inquisition for three centuries. I’ve just seen too many House of Cards episodes to be hopeful about anyone.
So what’s a shaman to do? Head to the Mental Mountains and meditate, I suppose. Nothing else to be done for it. So my apologies for not writing, but you see what happens when I take a few indulgent minutes at the keyboard– I rant and moan. I’ll be back, but making no guarantees I’ll be nice.
Till then, yours in crankiness,
One major pet peeve I have with myself and Azeroth these days is when I miss a toy opportunity–for the Lunar Festival there was a new toy, but because I didn’t do my research I’ll have to wait till next year. But not for the Love Festival! There is a toy called the True Love Prism, and it’s very easy to get — it just takes patience. “Patience” meaning you sit on your but for 25 minutes and click. Once you get 50 love tokens, buy a prism, log onto an alt, and hit that alt for 50 shots of love. The cooldown for the prism is 30 seconds, so that’s where the patience comes in. Also, I suggest you two go to a dark corner without a lot of traffic –get a room, people–because you don’t want to be like my warlock and spread your love to random strangers. I had to pull Ceniza in to finish the job. My bank alt Kellae has never felt so loved. Once the stack of 50 is on your alt, the toy will show up in your bags.
Too bad the course of real love doesn’t run this smoothly…
And this…this is a shadow priestess…
The creators of this seriously got in my head — this is what I think when I’m walking around the real world wondering what would happen if a 7’2″ horned sexy demon girl took form and started to weed the garden. (Actually, goat-girl would come in handy with my messy yard).
Anyway, this is a series– enjoy while you can.
A little girl with a big green bow covered her mouth to cough. If her germs were glitter, the room would have been sparkly shards of pestilence.
The mage regretted not staying in her tower, away from coughing, germ-y children with big green bows and mousy hair, cardigans to match. She just got over a cold herself not a few days ago, the mucous forming gummy balls in her sinuses. And that little girl would not stop hacking. The thin mother strung her brood with her, goslings forming the lines, the oldest girl, the girl with the cough, leading the way, younger brother next, then a toddler girl, and baby girl in arms. All well dressed, jumpers and tote bags. Coughing and hacking circumference around the public space. The noise created a Doppler effect in the cushioned hall. Well, give the mother credit for birthing four babies and still keeping a slim figure, even if they were little germ bags.
Yes, she should have stayed at home.
But she had been bored, so she went to the library. Made a few scrolls, scribed a few cards. On each card, the ink seemed to pulse, living veins in black, thinning and swirling to create lenticular images. When singular the cards were ineffective; it was the combining of them that revealed truths, the skill of the interpreter enhanced by the crafted cards. Her favorite to create was the Two of Wands: this card represented planning, strategy, and ideas in motion. No more “_____of Hearts” cards. Ridiculous joker cards they were.
Her inking skills came at a tiny blood cost: small droplets of blood went into every pound of soot, ash, vinegar, and water. Just a tiny bit. Of course she was being superstitious and playing warlock—she shrugged. Couldn’t hurt.
She scribed a few variations of the Two of Wands—in one version, the wands were a couple speaking to one another, and in another, the couple turned their backs, disconnected and angry. She’d have to destroy that one, for its magic cratered at its inception. Angry wands do not good plans make.
Her favorite illustration was an optical illusion: the two wands crossed each other, but if the card was held at an angle, you could see the wands never touched. Alter the other way, and the one in the foreground faded to the back. You couldn’t tell where one started, ended, or where the connection stopped. The trick of optical illusions was to show the viewer exactly what they knew they would see, but could never be puzzled out. Things appear to be touching, yet never quite meet.
In addition to some romance novels, (the best place to press inky cards), she grabbed some music—a little classical—Bartok perhaps—and Spanish guitar. The librarian seemed tired, ready for the late winter night to begin, or end; the mage couldn’t tell which. Or maybe that’s just how she felt. There was nothing in the cupboards to eat or cook. Acoustic guitar did not fill up an empty tummy. If only she had a man to buy her wine, bring her food, take care of the house. She took caution in what she wished for, however, because those plans often took more than they gave.
Slipping the freshly inked cards in between borrowed books, leaving smudges on the bodices and heaving bosoms, and unbridled lust, she straightened her green bow, buttoned her green cardigan, and coughed, theatrically, into her sleeve. At least she was old enough to buy her own wine.