My Precious….

My next suggestion for Blog Azeroth are those things that spawn our personal kryptonite in Azeroth, things that may or may not be obvious. They are the events, the items, the game style, whatever, that causes even the strongest resolutions to dissolve. I have so many it’s hard to choose, but one of them that I really need to examine is my love of changing guild names.

Poor Señor (I swear, I should change my friend’s pseudonym not to just Señor, but Poor Señor). I have changed our little cottage guild name about six times. I was watching Lord of the Rings over this holiday, the director’s cut, HD, etc., and let me first tell you it’s worth it. Watching Peter Jackson’s vision is worth every minute. It’s become somewhat of a holiday tradition for me, I suppose. Anway, so at the end, where Saruman is on top of his tower after the Ents, Merry and Pippin vanquish him, and King Théoden tells him to shuddup and the line, ‘gibbets and crows’ is bandied about. A gibbet is a hangman’s pole, a special kind, (see Darkmoon Faire outskirts), and a crow, well a crow is a bird. (I’m funny, huh?) So succumbing to my romantic Renaissance-y way I spoke out loud, “What a great name for a guild!” To the Internet!

So Gibbets and Crows it is for now, to remind me of that for all our glory, for all our work, there are some things that simply bring us to our knees. I’ll try to keep this guild name for a while, unless of course Señor insist that it change: which is why he’s one of the best guildmates ever – he just goes with the flow.

OLRG: The good, the bad, and the Fading Twilight

Prinnie tried to warn Kellda the Warlock, but did she listen?! NoooOOOooooo….

Before I type one more keystroke: Thank you so much PlaidElf for talking your hubby into tanking for us. I am offering my apologies, because I am sometimes one of “those players,” and he really should send me his gold repair bill. I’ll have my minions take care of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you – I hope he joins us again.

And YOU, yes YOU FANDRAL. You are a TERRIBLE DRUID AND ARE BAD AND SHOULD FEEL BAD…oh, ahem, sorry, sorry! Just drop the damn staff already, all right? Please? For Tome, and then for Momokawa? Come on, man! Pull it out of your, you know, druid pockets, the one where you keep your leafy greens and kitty shapes and let it go! There, Tome, that should do the trick. Yelling always helps.

Fandral, I shall crush you! DROP THE STAFF.

Now, the good: Cymre joined us on a level 90 Alliance Disc Priest she had tucked away…poor thing, all good and blue and Stormwindy and stuff–but came along she did, and of course took awesome screenshots! (Which reminds me, I really need to figure out this UI crud…) I could only greed on a gorgeous dagger, but since Cymre didn’t know and thought since no one needed on it no one wanted it, it was disenchanted. *sob* so pretty…my precious….so pretty….Oh well, over it. Because it wasn’t her fault: we all agreed that Blizzard, when content is this passé, should really take away the class/spec requirements on mogging loot. Just sayin.’ And we would all love to do old stuff on either Horde/Alliance side, and get over this us/them thing. I know it’s important for lore in current or recent content, but for real id and battle-tag friends, we’re just not that interested. I think it would be kick-ass to play alongside a troll priest while my draenei shaman chops stuff up, because I know under the pixel is a friend, not foe. That could even be a whole new era of achievements, the “Let’s Just Get Along” boon.

But wait…there’s more! Because I learned the greatest thing of all, that these meta-achievements, these cross-all-characters, account-wide awesomesauce includes…wait for it…chieves for mounts! So, if I take one character in there for say, oh Only the Penitent (which is a royal pain in the toukas), it will count! I took Kellda in there last night, not Mataoka, and we did the Bucket List one, which was grand fun!

Do you realize what this means?!? My time leveling 90s means more chances to check off the last two! Have you all not figured out as much as I love pets, the mounts…the mounts….must…have…more…ponies….my precious ponies….

This is a screenshot from Repgrind’s blog (used with hopeful permission):

And there’s more!
Look – look at all the potential ponies out there:

So, talk about a checklist for OLRG. Let’s get those staffs and ponies! All your ponies belong to us!

Now, Prinnie worries. And rightfully so. Her adorable voice in Vent cheerfully and enthusiastically tells us fight strats and know-how I would otherwise ignore. There are some players who hate dying, who take it personally (looking at you, Turk) who wince at the grey-shadowed run-back of shame that ensues from each graveyard. And there are some players (yours truly) who treat the reincarnated spirits as if they were a never-ending gobstopper, until of course we turn big, blue, and bulbous from our impatience and grabbing the chewing gum.

Sure, I hate the time wasted from wipes and death, and yes, am resentful over gold repair costs (Timeless Isle, watch out!) but I am definitely of the “let’s try it” school. I’m not sure if Prinnie knows I actually know more than I let on with my exhurberance, (okay, stupidity, ignorance, and impulsivity). It’s part of my charm, mmkay? Sure! That’s it! Charming….

….right…..

….and then it all came back to me.

….why so many guilds crumbled under the weight that was Cataclysm’s end game….

….why so much nerd-rage and arrogance topped the player-meters (some data cannot be mined in World of Logs)*

Effing Dragon Soul.

Ugh.

My UI isn’t right. Young leet druid has suggested I tear down and rebuild, AGAIN, from elvui and clean out my WTF folder and and and ugh, but I’ll be damned, the cast bar for the boss was missing and my timing was HUGELY off, in fact non-existent. We gave it a shot, hoping we could simply overpower game mechanics and kill Ultraxion.  He really….
….just ugh.

Ultraxion, I shall stab at thee with dull scissors! 

Okay. Enough of that. Next Saturday, same time, same bat-channel: 4PM Pacific. If Cymre or Navimie show up, as CD Rogue says every time you hear an Aussie accent you must do a shot, and God help you if you hear about a shark attack reported with an Aussie accent: that’s two. Thank you so much for joining us Mr. and Mrs. Amateur – we’ll get that rogue thingy for you – just bring him from the start, no worries. We’re all about making dreams come true, we here at the OLRG. And stabbing things with scissors.

Oh, and watched a phenomenal movie the other night: Sound City. Off to buy the soundtrack now.

*Note to self: figure out a magical way to track nerd rage and arrogance

Dear Mr. Theck…

I’ve been poking around Sacred Duty’s blog for some time. While leveling Luperci, Who Is Not A Fail Tank But Is Terrified of LFR, I would do my best to figure out the fights, add-ons, positioning, and read their information for tips and hints. They never failed to deliver, and Icy Veins recognizes Theck, the primary author I believe, as an expert in the protection paladin class. The “Lupe Project,” or how to get back into tanking, has been on my mind for awhile, and this post was in the draft folder for some time. I’m not sure if I’m ready yet. Just looking at her “Ask Mr Robot” is daunting enough for any brave player:

At least I have the Windsong right…

To be perfectly blunt, re-learning this class feels overwhelming and somewhat futile. And for a paladin to feel all hope is lost, well there is nothing sadder. But is it hopelessness, or just sheer, old-fashioned laziness on my part? Paladins are where the rubber-meets-the-road: there is no hiding, no where to run, and I don’t know how to bubble-hearth.  Oh crap, now I do because I read about it. LUPE OUT!

Okay -sorry. I dusted this post off because a dear paladin friend returned to the game, and I have also been thinking if I started playing again right now, what would be the first things I would do in MoP? Talk about overwhelming. I’m fairly certain he’s done some of the rounds, but my advice was:
1. Clean out the bank and organize: keep gear you love, and mementos of course
2. Go talk to Varian
3. Be nice to Vol’Jin–he will be helpful.

I would also add enjoy the scenery, because it is magnificent. 

The other decision a player returning to the game will have to endure is whether or not to get to level 90 full-bore, because that is when the real “fun” begins. This is when we as players really need to decide if getting to end-game is more fun/important, or if the process/journey is. I’m at that cross-roads myself. My friend was surprised to find out that I was even still playing….STILL PLAYING? Oh Lord help me. I started tallying the Level 90s I’ve created, and the things I’ve done in game and out, and yes, yes I am still playing. My resolutions are being mentally crafted as we speak, and many of them do not include Azeroth.

In any case, onward, brave paladin. I have a few more posts in mind for this weekend, and the include one on oaths, and I have a druid story in mind. Those things I know I can keep aggro on.

OLRG: Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer Edition

Can’t you see I’m busy killing dragons? 

All righty, Old Ladies Raiding Guild: I hope ya’ll can join some brief fun tomorrow, Saturday, December 28th at 4PM Pacific Time. I have a full-on naughty/nice list going, so let’s see what we can do:

Now, if we can get someone else to tank, I’d love to take a cloth-wearer to Firelands for some different moggy stuff.

  • Dragon Soul: Let’s head over to visit Deathwing and shake him down for a bit next.
  • Sunwell, anyone? I tried to go in there on Mataoka the other day and still had my tail thoroughly handed to me on a platter, sushi-style. @#!!* Blood elves!
  • In the future, some Flex/Normal: One, just one Flex, not LFR: why? Because LFR stinks. I am taking my paladin. We will die. It will be okay. I’ll make cookies.  From Icy Veins:

Please! Taking any requests, too — Please let me know what you would like to do, where you want to go, and what you want to try – nothing is off-limits to old ladies.

In the comments’ section of WoWHead, a player put this list together:

By Leishai (44,691 – 15·99·260on 2011/07/23 (Patch 4.2.0) Report
I made a list of gimmick items which you can use to transform your character into a different form or race or even gender to play around with. I didn’t add items like weapons that provide a procc with a transform effect even though I know about them. My intention was to list all items with controlable transformations. Feel free to let me know if I missed an item!

Item Name: Transforms you into: Duration: Cooldown:
 Fandral’s Flamescythe Molten cat while in cat form (Druids only) Til shifting out of form
 Burning Seed Molten cat while in cat form (Druids only) Til shifting out of form 2s
 Glyph of Disguise Anyone you pickpocket (Rogues only) 5m
 Glyph of Illusion Anyone else (Mages only) 2m 30m
 Leyara’s Locket Druid of the Flame 5m 1h
 Kalytha’s Haunted Locket Ghostly female Highborne 30m 15m
 Blessing of the Old God Qiraj 20s 10m
 Burgy Blackheart’s Handsome Hat Gostly pirate gnome Til unequipping the item
 Orb of the Sin’dorei Blood elf 5m 30m
 Orb of Deception Race of opponent faction 5m 30m
 Bones of Transformation Male Naga 20s 10m
 Pygmy Oil Voodoo gnome 10m
 Stave of Fur and Claw Furbolg 3m 1h
 Savory Deviate Delight Ninja or pirate 60m
 Noggenfogger Elixir Skeleton 30m
 Gordok Ogre Suit Ogre 10m
 Super Simian Sphere Gorilla in a bubble 5m 1h
 Iron Boot Flask Iron Dwarf 10m 1h
 Muradin’s Favor Frost Dwarf 10m 30m
 Vial of the Sands Sandstone Drake Til cancelled
 Heart of the Nightwing Obsidian Nightwing Til cancelled
 Potion of Illusion Someone else 2m
 Winter Veil Disguise Kit Snowman Til cancelled
 Dragonwrath, Tarecgosa’s Rest Blue dragon Til cancelled
 Dire Brew Dark Iron Dwarf Til cancelled
 Wisp Amulet Wisp 20s 10m
 Time-Lost Figurine Arakkoa 5m 30m
 Lifegiving Seed Random herb Til cancelled
 Frenzyheart Brew Wolvar 5m 30m
 Hook of the Master Angler Fish Til cancelled
 Magic Eater Basilisk, locust, whelp, or whisp 1m 1s
 Underbelly Elixir Wasp, Tuskarr 10m
 Rituals of the New Moon Giant wolf 2m 10m
 Rituals of the New Moon Black wolf 2m 10m
 Rituals of the New Moon Red wolf 2m 10m
 Rituals of the New Moon White wolf 2m 10m
 Orb of the Blackwhelp Black whelp 15m
 Faded Wizard Hat Apprentice of a different race 30m 30m
 Arcanite Ripper Guitarist of the Tauren Chieftains 10s 1m
 Sun-Lute of the Phoenix King Guitarist of the Tauren Chieftains 10s 1m
 Vrykul Drinking Horn Vrykul 10m 1s
 Kang’s Bindstone Stony appearance 10m 1h
 Ai-Li’s Skymirror Like a targeted player when using 10m 1h
 Mr. Smite’s Brass Compass Mister Smite 30m 2h
 Aqua Jewel Makes you nearly invisible 10m 1h
 Krastinov’s Bag of Horrors Doctor Theolen Krastinov 30m 2h
 Hozen Beach Ball Beach Clothes 30m 2h
 Shard of Archstone Mogu stature 5m 2h
 Scotty’s Lucky Coin Forest Sprite 10m 10m
 Demon Hunter’s Aspect Demon Hunter 5m 30m

The following items you cannot get anymore. Only to complete the list.

Item Name: Transforms you into: Duration: Cooldown:
 Gnomeregan Pride Gnomeregan Infantry (Alliance only) 30m 4h
 Darkspear Pride Darkspear Warrior (Horde only) 30m 4h
 Carved Ogre Idol Red Ogre 10m 10m
 Murloc Costume Murloc costume Til cancelled
 Dartol’s Rod of Transformation Furbolg 3m 1m
Last edited by Leishai on 2013/08/13 (Patch 5.3.0)

For the rest of us…poles, poop, shouting, and random acts of kindness

Warming: this post contains mild language: get a plunger handy.

Every big holiday event like this swarms of immature players (of all ages) park their big, fat mount butts on the NPCS. Mountains of fruit cakes must be climbed over in order to get to the desired Rotten Helper, or other sought-after pet. We players furtively log on, hopping the coconut shrimp doesn’t burn (ahem) or we forget to call Aunt Ruth. Thank heavens I don’t have an Aunt Ruth.

But one recent trend, and I don’t think this has anything to do with the holiday season save to say there is just more of it, is this potty-talk in LFR: Everyone Poops.

Yes, everyone, in fact, any living thing with some form of mouth and backside poops.

The shout-out in raid chat that one must go to said potty has become such an epidemic I am almost concerned that we should not only perform a ready-check before each pull, but a colonoscopy too. First of all, rogue with #15 DPS, it’s perfectly fine if you run to the restroom during this trash. We don’t need to know.

The last LFR with Mataoka went from good to poopy to somuchnerdrage it was just silly. Here is a typcial exchange:

Charming, eh?

This same LFR found me doing great DPS: I was out of practice as enhancement, and found my groove fairly quickly and happily. Everything was fine. No one was pissy. Until we wiped once on Garrosh, with five or six players dead in the first 15 seconds, then everyone started shouting for anyone under 80K to be kicked.

I had been consistently doing 120-200K up until I had to run screaming for my life and cashing in all my Gifts of Na’aru cards. Whatever. I’m out. It’s was effing one of yas! DISGUSTING.

#NSFW

So in the Matty-shack, imagine that is me sans Scottish accent and switch the genders of the children. Yup. Why it makes me laugh so hard. For the New Year, though, I am going to clean up my act. I am. Don’t effing believe me?!? Well, then…
never mind. 
Postscript of Goodness:
However, it must be mentioned with all the goofiness, more niceness than naughtiness abounds. A player was giving away some cute mog gear the other day, and I had to log before she could open up trade. She took the time to send them to me:
Not only that, but when I thanked her she sent me the matching top, too. Will be mogging it soon. Thank you, Joliane! You made my Winter Veil!

Story Time: Codex

This is the story I wrote for Tyledres for the #FFW

http://tyledres.blogspot.com/2013/12/furtive-father-winter-gift.html

Codex
By Mataoka
Nothing came easy for her, nothing. Never did, never will, Vaunt reckoned. She stared at the giant Orc’s bushy, black-bearded face.

Deep in a protected grove of Silverpine Forest rested a small farm owned by a human family. The patriarch of the family gave her father Borbchek his first job, years ago. “Job” is too kind of a word, for he was an indentured servant, working off a debt, and they took him in not out of kindness or charity, but because they recognized cheap, crafty labor. Some say the family had ties to the Proudmoores, but the lady of the house started these rumors. Borbchek kept his mouth shut, and big, green pointy ears open.

The Second War Goblins were notorious financial mercenaries, and would sell their own grandmother if enough gold were involved. Many did. In the case of Borbchek, his father drowned in a crossing, and his mother’s unscrupulous morals and addiction to nogginfogger elixir trumped her motherly instincts, as feral as they were, and she packed off Borbchek to the highest bidder, never giving him a second thought.

From bits and pieces, odds and ends he found in the tool shed, Borbchek crafted a mechanical device designed to dig up rocks, clear debris and scrubby pines, pulverize each stone and boulder to get to the rich soil. His tinkering and engineering contributions to the family are what created their prosperity, and yet they did not reward him or allow him to share in the riches. So, he stole what he needed, or felt he deserved: they seemed none the wiser. A piece of silver cutlery here, or an ivory button there, made no difference. His mechanical cleverness, however, did not carry over to his rapacity skills, and one of the other house goblins tattled on his thievery. He had stolen more than a kiss from her, and she was disgusted in his lack of honor in claiming paternity rights to the green bun in her oven. So, pregnant with his bastard daughter, she told the mistress of the house about his thievery, and his loss would be replaced by the baby’s future labor. He hanged in Gallows’ Corner the next full moon.

The snitching maid raised her daughter, Vaunt, in the household without incident. Her mother wanted to name her something that sounded close to ‘vault,’ to remind herself that she was a secret treasure. Or perhaps her spelling wasn’t too accurate. In any case, Vaunt joined the human household and as soon as she could walk and carry a bucket, began her life of servitude.

Vaunt inherited little of her father’s mechanical skills, so she served the family in the dairy, milking cows and goats. She had a knack for delicious cheeses and butter, and an odd manner or talent with the livestock. Every chicken, barn cat or field mouse would do her bidding: she discovered this talent one pathetic winter morning: slicing snow and sleet caused the milk bucket to freeze up, so she commanded the poor cow to heat up her milk, and squirt faster. The cow obliged. Though she didn’t speak cow, chicken, or goat, somehow she knew their thoughts, and they hers.

Then came the Third War: slaughtered by the Scourge, the family members arose, reborn from death, one by one to serve the Lady. Even in death they reigned supreme, chartered by the sensual Sylvanas. Vaunt looked at her own knobby, bowlegged posture, her overly large hands, calloused from milking and churning, and felt that deep acknowledgment that her destiny would never fit in with this beautiful, lost-souls of a clan. Her mother felt dissatisfied too, with serving the ghoulish lot who were ungrateful at best, and damn near elitist puffery at worst. So in the middle of the night, they packed up their things, helping themselves to the family silverware and guild gold, and headed for the sunnier, warmer side of the world: Orgrimmar.

Farming, dirt, and stink were no strangers to the canyon compound of Orgrimmar. It was quite a contrast from the moon-soaked grass and the hushed, haunted pines of the forest she left behind. Homesickness shook her to her core. Her mother found employment as a hostess and barmaid in a local tavern, and barely noticed her daughter’s comings and goings. To get some different air than the burnt-oil grease fires on the walls of the city, Vaunt followed her nose to an underground, shadowy place, aptly named the Cleft of Shadow. It smelled refreshing to her big green nose: like burnt ink and toads’ kisses, more like home than any other place in Orgrimmar. She tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible while she slunk down the long, rough-hewn corridor. A master warlock trainer, Zevrost, smelled the cow dung and spoiled milk on her clothing, and grabbed her by the nape of her neck, holding her prone to get a good look at her. She pursed her lips in fear, afraid that her big mouth would get her into further trouble: this Orc meant business, growling, “What are you doing down here, little runt?”

Vaunt had had enough: the homesickness, the loss, the solitude, and the stink. She shouted back at the Orc’s angry face, “How the hell should I know! Your breath stinks, this place smells like pig’s ass on a hot day, and you can all go straight to hell and Draenor for all I give a rat’s nipple!”

No one had ever spoken to Zevrost in this way. Not even that barmaid…no, never mind, a story for another time. His Voidwalker, Zekkor, even seemed flummoxed. Zevrost looked in the girl goblin’s burning red eyes, with the ring of deep purple around the green-black pupils, and saw who she would become.

Years later, a powerful warlock in her own right, she found a book.
Or the book found her.