Can’t get that girl out of my head…

Scout Knowles is bewitched…

On the Ember Spear Tower, a wall built with planks of courage and mortared with righteousness, keeping a sharp eye and steady gaze to the horizon, Scout Knowles made sure the heathen undead and their foul, putrid plague wagons were kept in check. Vigilance and duty were his honor-bound beliefs. He had one job, and he did it well. The duty required focus, little imagination, and stamina. He was born to be a scout, to guard and protect with singular purpose. Knowles, a soldier in the Valiance Expedition, his loyalties fastened to his king, country, and horse, but not necessarily in that order.

Captain Adams had made it very clear: if anyone came to the aid of the Valiance Expedition, Knowles must send them into the poison and pain to retrieve information, and destroy those plague wagons.* And here was another one, with visions of fame and fortune, using his position as a stepping stone to greater glory. Probably another paladin or knight, moving onwards to greatness, while he was honor-bound to the wall, hanging like a portrait, never wavering.

But this morning, he was visited by an angel. An angel in shadows and silk, light and fire, and he became a believer.

He didn’t even turn around at first. Just heard the typical soft Draenei female voice, accented, and strange…but a tiny spark fell to the ground. Looking up to find its source, his eyes off of the horizon for one moment, he fell.

The boys in the Keep noticed a change about him, and gave him dutiful helpings of grief. His mopiness became tiresome.”Knowles, man up for gods’ sakes! Whoever this trollop is, put your sword in it, and claim it!”

As fast as a chakra spell, he pointed his sword tip at his comrade’s jugular, and told him if he ever spoke one damned word against her again, his tongue would be cut from his skull, and never speak another thing, in truth or lie.

After this incident, Captain Adams, accustomed to young men who give too much of their youth to the service of country, wisely understood it was time to relieve Knowles of his duties; he was overdue for some R&R. Lovesick, fatigued men make the worst soldiers. And it was inhumane to make Knowles go back to the line. However, they were short on men. Many had gone off to fight the cultists sprouting up in new places around the world, places he had never served. Adams’ duties included the Northrend territories, where he himself had served for decades. So, as commanding officer, he had no other option but to send Knowles back to Ember Spear. If this girl was truly the one, she would be his, just like his Bessie had stood by him all these years.

Knowles took a cold bath in the river that fed the ocean from Utgarde. His faithful horse, confused and feeling oddly, jealous?…waited patiently in the stables. A dwarf girl cleaned his tack, and cared for his horse with love and care. There was fresh bread, ale, and provisions in his saddle bags.

Back he rode to the watch.


Theme song: Sally’s Song, Fiona Apple’s rendition

Oh, Zeptepi. Your sisters tried, but failed, but you, you got him.

*Why Scout Knowles and other NPCs can’t move twenty feet in any direction to do it themselves, I will never understand.
*Those plague wagons keep spawning. Hmmm. Didn’t take care of them the first 3,499 times?

Dear Matty: Slip Out the Back, Jack, Edition

Dear Matty:
Long time fan, first time writer. Got a sticky problem I think you can help me with. I need to break up with this Druid who’s been playing me like a Russell Brower mandolin. Turns out, like most Druids, he’s a player, and I don’t have time for his multiple-personalities right now. I don’t want to put him on ignore, that seems kind of harsh. However, if I see him around Stormwind, it’ll drive me nuts. Hate to admit he’s broken my heart, but I know I need to move on. What do you think I should do?
Dashed-dreams Death Knight

Dear Dashed:
I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: Love Sucks. You asked what I think you should do, but you know what to do. A wise dwarf said to me once, “Women go into love hoping the man will change; men go into love hoping the woman won’t.” Amen, brother. But do you see the common thread? Change. And people don’t. Sure, we can grow, mature, learn to compromise, but I have yet to see hard evidence that our basic wiring gets re-routed. If this person has hurt you multiple times, they gain something from this, and will most likely keep doing it (hurting you, that is). Girls find power in their sexuality, and men get praised for promiscuity: if this is the emotional level where this druid stands, it’s pretty shallow, don’t you think? Rise above the muck, my dear Death Knight. Stand strong, and move on. This person sounds like toilet paper that’s stuck to your boots. Scrape it off.

Something related: Was watching the new version of Clash of the Titans the other night, and was wondering why Sam Worthington’s hair was cropped so short, while every other male had mythologically long locks. Friend commented that was because Master Worthington had just come off of filming Avatar. Seems that here in the States, we need to import macho men from Australia, such as Sam Worthington, Hugh Jackman, and the cast of The Wiggles. 

So, WWAAMD? (What would an Aussie Man Do?) If you’re wondering how some Aussie males approach breaking up with a woman, you may want to read this:

Good luck, and remember, just like every good old-fashioned draenei mother would say: “Dahlink, if he can’t see how wonderful you are, he’s not worth the spit of the Naaru.”

And, there are some other cute ones out there:

Theme song: Really – just play it, sing it, dance: Cee Lo Green

Other Dear Matty columns, linked here.

No contest.

Matty sat, trying to maintain her lady-like posture, on Guarf’s floor, but not very successfully. Too much Dwarven stout knocked her manners down. She tossed her head back and laughed–he had a way with words, the old curmudgeon. (She had a knack for seeing under others’ crusty masks, and kept the gift fresh by never revealing it.)

Their contest? Dirtiest limericks. She was still crimson pink from the last round. Start one, finish one, were the rules. Nothing else, jokers’ wild.

“Oh, lassie, betcha can’t finish this one! —

There once were two girls from Darnassus
Whose boobs were as big as their assess…

Go on! What are the next few lines?!”

She smiled…”Okay, my hammered friend:”

There once were two girls from Darnassus
Whose boobs were as big as their assess…
Until a zeppelin flew by
and let out a sigh
and aimed straight for their crevasses…

Guarf looked in wonderment at the sweet girl. 

He just shook his head and drank his ale.

Real ID.

Okay, no joking around. I am missing a WoW friend. He hasn’t logged on in awhile, and I know from blog traffic reports hasn’t checked in here, either. I really miss him, and am a bit worried.

I can’t put up “Have you seen him?” posters around Stormwind, or send him a text in real life. We are just friends in the one realm. My rogue is still keeping one hand in his guild pocket, er, rather keeping one eye on the guild, but this absence doesn’t seem like him.

There are pros and cons to being real id friends. If you know them, truly, in real life, real id away. When you don’t, things can get a bit dodgy. Nothing personal, but perhaps you’re trying to keep the wolf out of grandma’s goodies, and want to keep the game on that level.

I do not believe my friend is a wolf, or the goodies. I just miss him.

My friend, Senor: I think of you everyday, and hope you are well.

Double drabble: Tempting

She hammered, pounded her way through Mt. Hyjal, opening the blessed, ruined portal to the Molten Front. A night elf, half his handsome face charred, the smell of singed skin in the air, she eased his pain with the healing balm, admiring his courage as he rose up, continuing to fight. He gave her a green apple as a token of his appreciation. He looked: loved. Promises made, faithful and true. Moving on. She killed monsters, while bending down to pick up anything of value that may drop; she absentmindedly rubbed the scar on her left shin.
She sat against the side of the cave wall, where big gods such as Malfurion held court. This was no space for him. The troll surprised her deeds with boots, and a necklace, ready for the asking! Perhaps Matty would make a gem for her, a golden colored one full of mastery. She didn’t want to ask. If she did, sober, her honest nature may be compelled to tell Matty the truth she glossed over in her last letter. She bit down into the gift. The apple was sweet, but a little sour, too.  Was that half a tiny worm?

Lime(rick) popsicles

There once was a dispersed priest from Elwynn

Who couldn’t find a dungeon to play in
She got kicked once or twice
by players not very nice
so she plagued their groins, for the win!
Bonkin’ Orc noggins, all over Twilight
Smashing kegs with blessing of might,
She wasn’t knocking boots
To hear the tawny owl hoots
She just wanted the rep to have a good knight!
Watching Conan O’Brien and writing
The laptop is not much good for kiting
It’s missing the “a” key
So I can’t go west, see
But can respond to guild-chat with smiting!

Drabble: Farathorn’s Lament

I’m needed on the Molten Front? Why would they possibly need a broken-down warrior?  Oh, I see, a blacksmith is what they actually need. Well why don’t they just send me the…dammit, only blacksmiths can acquire the plans.  Well, trotting around on the Front for a few days might be a nice break from the anvil.  Wait, these things need Chaos Orbs? I’m retired!  They want me slogging through dungeons at my age?  Then arm-wrestling some young punk of a rogue for the Orb?  Oh no, I’m too old for this…oh my.  

That’s a nice sword.

Writer’s note: Guarf, you rock.


Malfurion delivered on his promise: magically appearing in her post-box nested a Flameward Hippogryph. She immediately mounted the warm beast, and took it for a quick flight around Stormwind. The faithful Cenarion Hippogryph, placed in the stables to rest, felt at a bestial level, slighted and hurt. “Where was she going without me?” the dusky rainbow bird-beast wondered, in its own language, the language that cannot be spoken, written, or read: only sang.

Matty knew she would have to return again to the Molten Front. Each day, she was given just enough medicine to heal only eight. She would watch the valiant protectors spin, fall, in exhaustion and flame, and heal them as best she could. This particular morning, she remembered a time, after she and Luperci had been playing on an icy pond in Howling Fjord, came inside for a hot drink. As Luperci sat taking off her boots, Matty was about to take a sip from her mug. The tea was boiling hot, and in her shock, spilled it on Luperci’s leg, through her leggings, and causing scar tissue that was there to this day. The healer teased Matty about doing it on purpose, to hurt Luperci because she was an annoying little sister…he thought he was being funny, but even now the memory of the guilt caused Matty to cry. She would never hurt someone like that, and never, ever intentionally cause Lupe pain.

The balmy horizon closed.

She felt the weight of gold in her bags. From the sale of the leggings, she had enough left over to buy a necklace she had been admiring on a friend’s neck, a necklace that would give her an edge of agility…

…but she had promised herself this gold was for Lupe.

Writer’s note: That Flaming Hippogryph is pretty damn cool. It comes with seat-warmers, sound system, moonroof, and electronic keypad locks. The airbags have been recalled a few times, and it does take about a month of dailies to obtain one. One complaint I and some other comrades have discussed is that there are a few items in WoW that are unobtainable for the common player/man, and that hits a bit too close to the real world for me. I am not a believer in shades of grey and all flavors as long as they’re vanilla, but if I can’t afford a new car in real life, at least when I am in my virtual world some fun perks are available. I wish that there were other avenues for the rare mounts. But moreover, it’s the gear that gets under my skin. No decent gear should be inaccessible to a player. I can understand a mount or a pet being rare; but finding those is exciting, like a treasure. But only having decent shoulders come from a raid environment is ludicrous. There should be adequate gear available in other ways. Although, for the first time, I noticed a hunter friend with the Pauldrons of Nalorakk, which I didn’t know came from Zul’Aman. But, I’ve never seen them drop.  Look out, trolls. Baby needs some bears on her shoulders. 

So, no more complaining. It’s the pursuit of happiness,no guarantees of it, that makes for a healthy world.

Drabble: Valor.

Axe and mace, off. Spilling dirt, dusted. Swept. Out the door. Was that blood on the clods? Trolls’ blood? Yes. Exhausted. And lonely. Not alone. Lonely. The hours in the day were still twenty-four, weren’t they? Did she miss the spell where the hours were extended, elongated, expanded, and exploded? She put the cool cloth next to her puffy eyes. Praised and picked apart all in the same light. She could do no wrong, and she could do no right. But she took care of herself, all by herself today. Made her own friends, and enemies. Half a day, vanished.

Writer’s Note: Nine-hundred and eighty valor points in one day is not easy when you’re not raiding, going door-to-door for Baradin Holds, or have only so many trolls to kill in so many hours. For some reason, some hair-brained reason, I thought it would be an idea, good or otherwise, to try to get all of the valor points I needed to get my leggings. It was like going on one of those speed-dating nights, I suppose. Leggings: acquired. Capped Valor Points? Almost. Only one more Zul to do, but that will happen before the clock strikes midnight on Tuesday. Damn. I already turned into a pumpkin though.
This is not a fun place to be without my friends, though. 
Move to the next table.
Wednesday: 0 WoW: 980