Poetry: Ode to Alts

Guidmate sacrificed three Spirits to make this for me–I know someone who’s getting a Cinder Kitten!

There once was a shaman, she is the main—

Enhancement was she, until she hit healing rain
But to stay as main she would need some help, that was plain
However most were too busy trying for rep and valor to gain
From alts and guildies to boost her gear score
She would need enchants, gems, and much more
So she called in a mage, who had anger management rage,
Asked her to start fires, inks, and scribe some scrolly scrolls,
but got all wet and frustrated, and killed by trolly-trolls
To cool things down, she decided to quest
and break NPCs from a cages, to the west
She went to the yucky place, but got lost in the haze
So she milled leaves and something that looked like dead sage
From the flowers she picked, quick as a blink
(The druid tried, too, but got eaten I think)
But that became an epically-epic time-sink
The mage got distracted, as mages often do,
They have a very difficult time staying true
She decided to make a staff for the priest,
Therefore the mage’s focus on the shaman’s needs ceased
So she called in a druid, a flower-picker, too, (but no inks)
She created potions, flasks, and other tasty drinks
The druid can do it, let’s give her a cheer!
She’ll be level 90 by the end of the year…
The shaman sent her ore, galore! And gave her a chore:
Smelt me s’mores! Smelt me more!
The druid responsibility took to her tasks
But forgot what her purpose was, and drank all the flasks
When she woke up in the drunk-tank,
Feathers mussed, with a skunk pet that stank,
She recalled her duty to shaman and guild
That it was her mission of gear score to help build
She used ghost bars to make the trillium,
And forgot to transmute primal diamonds (how sillium!)
So the sockets were sockless, to coin a new idiom
And the she drunkenly used lotus on some effluvium
A paladin was on standby, wanting to make
A new mace or shield so that booties would shake
But the living steel took too long,
(This is starting to be a familiar song)
The blacksmith would have to wait
To make better gear, it would be a long date
Now back to the hunter, she’ll save the day!
With her growling pet at her side, the hides she’ll cut away
But even she wandered off in a meadow, I’m told
And was last seen with full bags of intestines to hold
So it’s back to the mage, come on girl, Be quick!
Mill those inks! Pick those flowers! Do your clever trick!
The shaman is waiting to get a hefty gear score
Do you want her to wipe the raid, or not know her lore?
The mage hung her head in a semblance of shame
She tried for contrition but, hey it was only a game
Who else can she call? Who else indeed?
Which one of the alts can stand in her stead?
Now the monk is not good, such a lowbie to the end
She should have used recruit-a-friend
The druid was still squishy, how could she survive?
The mobs of critters who ate her alive
She wanted to be an industrious farmer,
and not have anything harm her
To grow the spirits and motes
(Rumor has it those things grow like oats)
She would need the lotus of golden
She was only a Mogit alt, not beholden
Call in a young priest! Call in an old one!
So in from the shadows she came,
from the house of the auction
The priest who spins the silk,
like those of her ilk
She does this daily, every hour x 24
Because the cool down bars the door
She needed motes, too, dammit,
But instead of trying, she took a different gambit
She would work hard to gain rep,
And around the valley she’d schlep
She worked so hard to pound down some Mogu
But when she was last seen, with pandas she was drinking their brew
She didn’t get the cloth done for the mage in time
So no staff for anyone, not even account-with-bind
Sadly the druid went on a three-day drunken bender
And the unsold items were marked “return to sender”
When we last saw our shaman, our one, our main
She was talking to some Klaxxi she hoped to entertain
She would cut through the amber and pound on some sand
And find new ways to cope in a dangerous land
The lesson here, my alts of my life,
If you want to lessen your pain and your strife
Just focus on one, and don’t try to juggle
The amount of pixels it takes that make up our struggle
One or two is fine to focus on, it’s true
They can’t all get to ninety in a day, boo-hoo, QQ

Theme song: Countdown/The Black Keys

Postscript: Notice how I break iambic pentameter once in awhile? I meant to do that.