Category Archives: Hildebruja

Lockstep.

To clean up any recent negativity I may spilled, here are two tidings of happiness:

Last night, after a successful clear of Dragonsoul, with heroic Morchak, and pretty new gloves, it was time to help guildmates cut gems and embellish the goodies. I told a fellow teammate, a mage, with his new gear, he would thoroughly be kicking my tail. He said…

…sit down…

…”I don’t see it that way – we are on the same team and helping each other…”

(smelling salts, please)

Oh, someone who GETS IT! That it’s not about competition, or rubbing another player’s nose in it, but understanding synergy!

Okay, I know you’re sitting down, so here is Part II:

While leveling the intrepid Hildebruju, the Relunctant Warlock, she ran some dungeons. She apologized to the group at the beginning saying she recently changed specs, and knowing her damage in groups is shoddy (get her out on the open field with her voidwalker, and look out!).

The tank responded immediately, and said no problem, not to worry, and:

What is this? No nerd rage? No anger? Little Hildy has enough things to worry about–her stumpy legs plod along next to lithe Night Elves and athletic Draenei, her pug nose is not as charming when compared to the sugary-snacks of gnomes, and heaven knows her sexiness is slim when sidling next to a human girl.

So–players. Here’s a thought. Just a notion. How about if we try these types of approaches? A little patience goes a long way. I ran four dungeons with the healer from that group, and hunter, and never once did they rage at me. I love that Hildy’s biggest problem now is to get Jarel Moor to notice her. She can’t see over the counter. He mistook her for a child and asked to see her ID, which thoroughly embarrassed her, so she ran downstairs and waited till she stopped blushing.

Drabble: The Bodyguard

Hildy giggled at her pumpkin head…

The large, shadow-infused Omkrit was the huffing color of a deep summer midnight. His protectiveness contradicted his protests. Of the troika of demons at her amateurish disposal, he was her favorite.  He was enslaved by all manner of sorcerers, but Hildy was unique. When the others died, he slipped away until summoned forth anew. She giggled as braids twirled, or spells twisted, “Oh dearie me, Ommie, oh! No! Look! Another one got away! She would yell whenever a beastie got the upper-hand of her mucky spells. Hildy needed him, and woe to those who would hurt her. She was safe.