Tiny Story Time: Tabard of the Hand

Dornaa, my sweet daughter, I am heartsick. I tried to find the gift for you; I searched everywhere, but alas, I fear it is lost to the ages, irrecoverable. In any case, please return to Bloodmyst Isle, and seek the Prophet.  You will have to slay a demon named Sironas, but she is no match for you. I would offer my help, but you are more than capable. –M

Dornaa, Vindicator

Dornaa

Chest:  Ghaz’rilla Scale Armor
Shoulders: Scorpid-Sting Mantle
Leggings: Tristam Legguards
Hands: Corin’s Handguards
Boots: Lighweight Mesh Boots (obtained during a Bloodmyst quest)
Staff: Minion Staff

http://arcanewordsmith.wordpress.com
Samaramon’s Transmog Contest

Over (Northern) Exposure

How could I possibly not laugh? Heartichoke finds herself in an awkward spot…the Tauren felt oddly cheered up…

Oh, my poor friends and loved ones. 

I am so sorry.

And apologies to my Southern Hemisphere friends: this is completely another Northern-centric concept. As you are all beginning to enjoy spring into summer, we selfish folks up north are behaving badly. I am reflecting on two Novembers, this year’s and last, and realizing I need to get help, or at least take some Vitamin D. And when I say November I was thinking about an ugly incident that happened last year around this same time when I had a hissy fit, and frustration and hubris ( not mine, others) got the better of me. This year was no different. My Thanksgiving weekend began with children fighting (and blood, not mine), tears, and yes, perhaps sweat: we warn ourselves every year here in the States that the beginning of the holiday season is stressful, everyone feels it, and though I am actually pretty damn happy and grateful, somehow the Sha of Excess takes us over. We watch angry, trashy mobs hit each other over consumer goods during the Black Friday shopping, and start to get ‘wish lists’ from relatives. CD Rogue and I even got a request from relatives that, in just the asking, caused no small amount of angst. You think Penn and Teller can do magic? Just try to see behind the curtain on the team of Guilt and Resentment: now that’s a show!

See that dark side? Me.

And this is soooo wussy of me – but I also think I may have a small case of S.A.D. To me, it’s always been one of those ‘made up’ maladies, one of those ‘get the smelling salts’ things. I love autumn, and October is one of my favorite months, so when I finally admitted how damn cranky and teary I realized November is, CD Rogue fairly shouted and said, “SEE! I TOLD YOU FALL SUCKS!” There’s not a lot of room for discussion in CD Rogue’s world. I can love autumn and still cry big, gloopy tears you know, sheesh!

I get very needy/clingy, too, and then spiral out because I hate myself for being needy/clingy. My poor guildmate Señor got an earful, when after he worked for probably, gee, I don’t know, about forty days in a row, and I could just hear the “WTF is wrong with her?” It’s okay, my friend. It’s not your fault I am a tiny bit crazy, not at all. I mentioned my dear friend had a birthday, and I wrote this short but poignant letter to her. After not hearing from her for a week, I sent her a text asking if the letter upset her, and she said no, she loved it, but was extremely busy, even more so than usual. Mmmkay. Women especially love to play the game of “Queen of the Busy,” and I can’t tell her, “Well, I have six level 90s, and and and, I need to get some Valor Points, and and and…” No, that won’t fly. My brand of busy is very different from everyone else I know. And after posting pics of myself from Blizzcon, not sure what I was expecting there either. That folks would say, “Wow, Matty, you sure don’t look like you’re (insert age here)! Tome, thanks, cause I needed that compliment. And Navi and Erinys, too – thank you with all my heart. It’s awful to say, but sometimes I can’t hear it enough, and that makes me feel weak. And this is weird, but for months my Achille’s tendons have been in great pain. I can walk, but it hurts. I blame bad shoes, but this is at the point of a doctor visit. My right foot’s tendon is inflamed and the left is right behind it. Get it? See what I did there? Never mind. But whatever minor health stuff I have it never compares to what CD Rogue goes through, or others I know of. I just think it’s odd that it’s the Achille’s…the legendary point of weakness for any hero. Pisces are known for their feet woes; we’re meant to have mermaid’s tails. This land-lubbering hurts.

I always have such good intentions for these breaks, (breaks I am extremely grateful for). Perhaps these high expectations doom me because there is no way to get everything done single-handedly. Everyone in the Matty-shack has his own agenda, and sometimes those are incongruent to mine. For example, young leet druid asked why we don’t have these big meals more often, they don’t seem like that big of a deal. His timing was a bit off since I was on my 8th dishwasher load in as many hours it seemed. No, it actually isn’t a big deal to remember to thaw a turkey, to remember to order the damn thing in the first place, to remember to take out the gizzards and the other junk, and to remember to NOT PUT butter on TOP of the damn thing that will slide off halfway through cooking onto the bottom of the oven and fill the entire house with butter-smoke. (Yes, I put butter under the skin, too, mom…yes, this just seemed like a good idea…no, the butter sliding off onto the bottom of the stove and not into the GIANT roasting pan seems weird…).

Okay, so where am I now? Woke up too early – check. Made hot coffee…check. Wrote a self-indulgent post – cross that one off! Now to do something else. I know! There’s a little neglected Death Knight who could use some love – I’ll see what I can do.

Postscript: I want to make this a BlogAzeroth topic: What do you do instead of cursing the darkness/light a candle things in Azeroth? How do you chase the blues away?

Fished-Up Wish Story: Aegwynn

She had the dream again.
Every time it played out the same: she sits in a window nook in the auxiliary library. The smell of ozone hangs in the air, seeping through a small draft where the soldering failed. This spot held rare refuge for Aegwynn. While deeply entranced by some tome of polymorphing or the Meitre scrolls, the quadrant of boys catch her unaware. Each of the four surround her: one blinks in, one saunters in as a cat, one creates a false portal, and the fourth brashly walks right up to her and taps her on the head with one pointy, hard finger. He’s the one. She catches a glimpse of river-green eyes. He snatches whatever she’s reading out of her hands and holds it just out of reach, and plays monkey-in-the-middle with the other four boys. Embarrassed and furious, she is only tall enough that the tips of her fingers touch the book, but she is never able to get it away from them. As she reaches up, sometimes they use their free hands to poke her on her bodice, just below her small breasts. Vulnerable and furious, she is trapped: her peace is shattered, and if she storms off to tell the librarians, the boys call her names. If she ignores them, it’s almost worse, because they chuck the book at her head and run off laughing like hyenas. And leave her be. Explosive moments of violence, and then miles of silence and solitude: this was her existence.
She wakes hollowed out, crying.
She instinctively puts her hand on her belly, scarred with stretch marks that resemble white tiger’s claw scratches. No matter what cream or salve she rubbed on her skin during her pregnancy, nothing helped. Nauseous for months, dry, stretching, and painful—small sacrifices for the power that manifested in her.
When they first fell in love, Neilas told her that game the boys played was because they wanted her attention, not to be cruel, because boys don’t know how to tell a girl they love them, and taunt them instead. She knew better, but humored him. Everything she had, she had to fight for, directly confrontational, or hidden. She turned all of her power inwards and willed her body to create a son.

Now a very old woman, before the world’s memory: she serves as a simple handmaiden for the new magi ruler, a naïve woman. Aegwynn knew the young woman would learn the hard way: when the men fight, standing by their side gains nothing but scorn.

The dry skin covered no magic: all was depleted. Her powers just out of reach, always, always some other vessel to hold it, to will it. Perhaps that had been the trick of the wish, and she received what she sought. To make them all see, to make them obey: she got her way, even if it reduced her to dust.

http://www.wowwiki.com/Aegwynn%27s_Silver_Coin
http://wow.joystiq.com/2007/07/26/know-your-lore-aegwynn/

Happy Haanta…

Haanta is a terrible hunter. But that’s okay.

Haanta ‘before’ shot – sans helm
Before shot…with helm…egads!

I wish I could honestly report I am not sitting in my red paisley robe, juggling roasting pans and potatoes in a tiny kitchen, but alas, I am. It was a busy week, full of drama and moments of bliss, and now for a nice four-day weekend to work (yes, work – but good kind of work–see below) and play.

So I saw this personality test floating around Facebook, and decided to give it a crack:

Engaged Idealists are extroverted and helpful. Others find them to be very congenial and inspiring – especially as they are always willing to see the best in the other person. Their humour, their energy and their optimism attract other people.

Engaged Idealists are very good at communicating and are good at convincing and firing on others. That is why it is a matter of course that they often take over the leading role in groups. This personality type often produces very charismatic persons.

Engaged Idealists have an unusually strong ability to empathise. They are tolerant and generous towards others; they sometimes tend to idealise their friends. They always try to suit everybody and want their relationships to be harmonious and satisfactory. To achieve this, they are prepared to invest a great deal and to put their requirements last. As Engaged Idealists are very considerate, there is the danger of them sacrificing and overexerting themselves for others. In their job, they therefore have to be very careful not to develop a burnout syndrome.


About that…well, I have Azeroth. If the real world isn’t cooperative, then I have an alternate layer of characters who are more than willing to let me take them through the fire again and again, and with a few clicks of an anvil’s magic, they are all better again. This makes me think–no matter the criticisms, the anger, hostility, or intolerance we share in the real world or in Azeroth, we do have a chance to pop in, play with a beautiful, intriguing character and run and fly in a beautiful world. 

I’m grateful for that. 

Now onto getting Haanta some fashion help

Postscript: Much, much better:


Drabble: Winter Man

At noon the warm cherry-faced sun kissed the back of her neck: lies. At midnight, the drafty-crack wind in the doorjamb crept up her arms, popping goose bumps: truth. She imagined warm skin under cloudy blankets, that not all lack of light meant cold. But tonight it did. The bored conversation in her mind sighed like two washerwomen hanging sheets by pins and hooks, gossiping over the line. She saw the linens, his shrouded face. Eye contact minimal, chattering teeth and thoughts: when he did come home, he would bring the cold with him, smelling of snow, soap, and sweat.

Wish List Part 3: Ain’t No Mountain

Here is a Draenei racial abililty I’ve wished for a long, long time: the ability to scale mountains:

What special physical or mental powers do you wish particular races had? Draeneis have a heal and a knack for gem cutting, and humans can look out for themselves, but what else makes sense for your race? The fact that Draeneis have the hooves of mountain goats seems like a waste of a physical skill. How did this young Draenei female scale that hill? And if she is also a preview into model changes, sign me up: those blue glowing eyes are fantastic and expressive.

Marvin Gaye – Ain’t No Mountain High Enough from Don Shafer on Vimeo.

Wish List 1
Wish List 2