Category Archives: /kiss

The talbuk goes woof.

Or: a wolf in talbuk’s clothing.

Lunarfall Inn: four stars!
Lunarfall Inn: four stars!

(This is the best clip I could get– nothing is working in Draenor right now.)

So I choose the Talbuk Ranch every time I get to Nagrand. I’m sure the siege engines are lovely, albeit not fuel efficient, but those talbuks have my heart. In fact, I find the siege engines a bit over the top when going back to one’s roots in Draenor: talbuks are the only choice.

I noticed, however, then when I say giddy-up, instead of a hearty-horsey snort, my talbuk growls like my wolves. I hope you can hear the sound in that clip, because it’s true. ALL TRUE.

Kate doesn’t believe it:

There are many things in Azeroth and Draenor that aren’t quite kosher, like wolf-accented talbuks. Would you believe that there are still female players who flirt and use sexuality to get things? It’s true, all true. Most of the time it just makes everyone feel awkward and confused. I love to read Dear Prudence, and wonder what she would have to say about this? Wait, I don’t need her to weigh in, I have my own thoughts!

We can’t extricate the RP from the MMORPG: it is role play. Role play is living out a character’s life, giving it context and conflict. In this day and age, it is time to acknowledge this is a viable and creative form of human activities. Dungeons and Dragons has been around since 1973, and if they allowed girls/women to play, it would have been even richer from its outset. (I’m sure they did, but yeah, you know. Women are barely allowed in comic book stores now, much less forty years ago). So now, we are all Blood Elves and Draenei and Goblins and Trolls, both genders, and run around a beautiful world and play as we wish. If adult players choose to enter an RP scenario or server, that is theirs to do. However, it feels awkward or uncomfortable when either a man or woman engages in aggressive sexual overtures.

While in Azeroth, feel free to allow your character(s) to have a “life:” interact with other players you know and trust, and try to give strangers some leeway in terms of the casual encounters in dungeon groups, etc. Our garrisons are ripe with opportunities to interact with our followers and NPCs– and trust me when I tell you I have some stories to tell. We have friends, and our friends speak through their faces of druids, mages, priests and paladins. There must be an influence of character when on the screen our real faces are layered under our on-screen personas, for better or worse. Mostly in my case, the better. I adore my Azerothian friends.

Till the next story- Matty

RTMT: You’re going to choke!

Today’s Random Tuesday Morning Thought is brought to you by Comcast, Who Can’t Get Its Sh*t Together, So Now It’s Wednesday.

“Do you want to be sent to your room and go sleep by yourself? And nobody will see you ever again?” 

You have probably seen this by now. I don’t care. This. Was. Me. I have always been a diva in my own narrative. I would send myself to my room, denying my mother of my charming company, and stage elaborate productions where of course, I was the star.

Yesterday was a great day: I am in MY GROOVE PEEPS. Until my boss saw one little thing I intentionally didn’t do, one little hoop I decided the poodles did not have to jump through, and she called me on it. Man, what’s a girl to do but get her fancy dress on when she gets home, and sing a round of Frozen to an adoring audience? (Translation: Kellda struts her fancy robes and raids the night away!) Alas, it was not meant to be.

Comcast sucks.

Comcast blows.

Comcast sucks and blows.

My Internet was out until about five minutes ago. I reset everything I could, and even killed a spider while pulling out the wires, pieces of dog food, and dust bunnies with teeth. I fixed it, but still, the night is gone. Thursday night I have to work, so can’t make it then. either. It was weird though, not having my usual routine.

I….

I made dinner.

I tried to read my next book for book club, but need my old lady glasses and couldn’t find them so I just used cell data to play Hearthstone. I watched The Daily Show, and mused at all the folks who want to kill everyone. Talk about shit getting real.

I responded to a Facebook post of a zealous Christian acquaintance who says climate change is a hoax.

And I went to sleep trying to scrape off the bullshit and nonsense that is the world, and think about gnome kisses and knights in shining armor.

I set up the coffee pot for the this morning the night before, so there would be caffeine. It’s not all bad.

Postscript:

I guess Blizzard felt sorry for me, because it gave Kellda a Blue Drake:

blue

 

Damn, baby…

August 10, 2014: Mataoka is speechless. 

kellda pony

Hawtpocket whispered me to get on my best DPS, which is Kellda, the Capricious. She grabbed her elite and amazing friends, made a ten man in under ten minutes, killed Garrosh in one quick shot, and not only did Miss Thang get her sparkly wolf pony, but an heirloom staff, and on bonus roll a piece of tier.

Remind me of this moment when I don’t win the Fishing Tourney for the 349th time, and the guild bank is out of toilet paper.

Cause this…is pretty effing awesome.

kellda august 10

 

 

 

Story Time: Weight of the World: Mataoka

(This is first-person narrative, from Mataoka’s perspective. This is not the human speaking: I am merely her servant. I pay the electric bill.)

There are two, only two, that when I see them from time to time, my tongue becomes so thick and wedged between my teeth I can barely speak. One a dear friend I helped when needed, a paladin named Althen, and one protective but elusive friend, like death itself. Me, a silver-tongue, known to coax the rains from the heavens, or blast a mountainside with fire! And I realize my pride is stronger than friendship, stronger than love. I will never ask them what I really want to know, never ask because that would make me weak.

But I would ask them if they remember why they know me.

And in my time in this world, seldom, if ever, have I asked for help. Give help–willingly. My greed stems from neglect. I feel useless without offering guidance. In fact, these years feel diluted because I cannot seem to find souls who need me. Nobundo shakes his head at me, sighing, “Mataoka, patience. Just…be. Listen.” I am beginning to think the drunken fish and Nobundo must be hanging out in taverns together, their philosophies are starting to sound similar.

Once or twice I did ask–I asked for faith. I asked for time. All I got were conflicted mumblings and shirked shoulders. Or did I miss it? Did I miss the signal? It’s humiliating to be put off, to be delegated to “not now.” So I won’t ask anymore.

And at this moment, I am an ice rune, in stasis. I draw down the rain, stir the pot, and fan the flames, all on my own. My sisters manage very well without my interference: Luperci is content to to bide her time until…what the hell is she waiting for? And Zeptepi, sweet priestess, I’m sure is healing the world without concern.

Something is happening, though. I will be needed. There are nightmares. I see a woman who looks like me. She wears outdated robes, so I can’t place the time. She clutches a baby and runs from red wolves. The wolves grow in number, and breath fel flames. Just when they are about to rip out her throat, I wake up. What is odd is I never hear the baby crying when I’m in the nightmare, but only after I wake up. It dissipates quickly, so I know it’s not a real baby. Hard to tell the waking from the dream some nights. The cry makes me ache, and I can’t shake the feeling I’ve lost something. More than once I’ve held my pillows so I can fall back to sleep.

I don’t need anyone though. I have my spirit wolves, and elementals, and all the power in my totems anyone could ever need. I am grateful for the blessing bestowed upon me, upon my people. The Light doesn’t offer everything: I shall help the world with solid footing on the earth. I don’t need anyone.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

And try to forget how it feels to be pulled in close.

The Unbearable Lightness of Zeptepi

r

Zeptepi
Zeptepi

If I wish to tell my own story, it must be through my sister’s tale first. She left home long before my arrival, leaving only a tired and indulgent mother and distracted father in her wake. According to our mother, I was the “sweet one,” her smallest angel. I never cried or threw tantrums that were legendary of Mat’s.  Mataoka followed the path of the shaman, of Nobundo, while I followed the conservative choice of priesthood. My words choke in my throat when I need to confess who I am, for humility and obeisance to Velen and the Naaru gently whipped me into compliance, the shadows burned if I stepped out of the path of the light. Did you ever have a shadow burn? It’s almost indescribable–like eating a hot pepper that tastes sweet at first then grows to a scorching burn in your mouth. (Only sweet cream or ale cures it, and then like love, the memory fades so we eat them again!)

I am a good priest, even though it pains me to boast. I have had to be: for reasons not clear to me, I reside as a leader of a tiny guild, a small cottage guild that only currently has a very kind group of friends. But the little guild came out of love and friendship, and I try to cultivate it, and make the members of it as happy as I can. All they need to know is I care about them. Great sacrifice and martyrdom, though in my nature I suppose, is not something I think strengthens myself or others. In other words, the door is always open, take what you want, and your friendship is all that is needed; however, I may not always have time to help you in your quests.

My heart belongs to one, just one. His heart died twice, so with little faith do I believe that mine can resurrect his. I am running out of hope.

Mrs. Whitworth is my cat. No, that feels wrong. Mrs. Whitworth is a cat. She belongs to no one but herself. She has a green-eyed kitten, just one, but I rarely see them unless it’s meal time or the mage has been fishing.

I keep my own counsel. I pray to my own gods. I suggest you do the same. The lights and shadows belong to me: I’ll leave the mud and fire to the shaman.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bellyrub Buff

This cheers me: if you don’t have one already, start a male Pandaren. Do a /kiss. Listen. It’s slobbery, full-bore, all-the-way adorable and kind of messy.

If it doesn’t make you feel like this:

From the Australia Facebook Page…

then, seriously –

there’s no help for you.

PS Full report on all the /kisses soon.