Category Archives: Luperci

Other people’s kids…

Let’s take a walk, you and me. Let’s take the long way, around the neighborhood, up the hill, and behind the fences. Along the way, let’s talk about how much I’ve been hanging on by my fingertips to try anything creative and juicy, in spite of a very long, emotional week. This inspired me:

…and I thought to myself, wow! That is how I feel when I play Haanta, even though, no, not at all.


Watch out! It’s the inevitable dog pile someone forgot to scoop up. I know I’m censored from having some disagreeable things to say about Warlords, but this really bothers me:

So gross. So very, very gross. Like unvaccinated children.
So gross. So very, very gross. Like parents who don”t vaccinate their children.

Dang, stepped right in it! Only “it” is the shape of a small warlock from Whisperwind, who saw that Haanta was bringing down a big wolf, rode right up to it, and then as it was dying, set his trap for it.


I say to Mr. Warlock:

warlock 1

And Mr. Warlock says to me a few things, such as it didn’t work anyway, what’s the big deal, and rationalizes his ass off about why he was right in trying to trap my kill. He says:

warlock 3

warlock 4

And as you can see I tell him to let it go. I don’t ask for an apology, because that would be futile. He is so passive-aggressive, and such a little pendejo, he then tells me:

“your darn self” is pretty adorable, actually


With poor grammar and everything! At this point, I hit the ignore button and move on.

What amazes me though, astounds me, is if there is a way to be an asshole in Azeroth players will find it. There is substantial anecdotal evidence I have personally collected in and out of Azeroth that many children/teenagers/young adults are amazing, and much evidence that many of them do not understand how to own it when they are EFFFING WRONG. I have been called a “mother effing cry baby” in the real world by a young squire, and am pretty sure the next time he says that to someone as an adult he’ll be calling his momma from jail.

So, I am raging a little bit. But let’s round this corner and look at the bright side: had a good talk with Hawt, and am still focused on shaping up Mataoka to raid, and if Normals are going to be all she can do for awhile, I’m okay with that. I got some slightly better, more appropriate gear, shaping up enchants, and went to the target dummies:

I can do this
26-28K sustained: work it!


Luperci is looking good, and ran a few normal, level 94 dungeons with her and friends last night- have missed tanking–

luperci the brave and beautiful

And while getting the easiest achievement in the game, Staying Regular, Lupe got the sh*t scared out of her when the ghost of Jarrod Hambly decides to hang out in the lavvy:

No joke: this actually startled me!
No joke: this actually startled me!

So, here’s our front door. We made it back. There are a lot of dangers out there, Velen knows. Virtual horseshit and nasty, bratty, needed-a-spanking-and-a-nap warlocks, and ghosts in the bathroom. Be careful out there! Take a sweater and be prepared to calmly, and firmly, tell Asshats to:

Theme song: Cake/STFU

and this:

Every shiny toy that at first brings you joy…

…will start to annoy…

Killer Pink (and some serious stuff) – revisited

Tank Hammered
Tank Hammered

Think I forgot to mention, so yeah, Luperci doesn’t have any more excuses for not doing current LFRs/Flexes anymore. Nope. Last week (how could this slip my mind?) I decided to use the power of the Kraken Rum and go try a few LFRs. Now maybe the group thought I was more like this:

barbie armor


But no one threatened to kick me from the group, and all in all went pretty well. I am feeling extremely unfeathered un-tethered at the moment. So that hair cut I mentioned? Didn’t quite go as planned. And if your friends with me on Facebook you saw it, but you did not see the way it’s dyed. And you need to know I know have a headache from trying to defend myself when drawn into a political debate — I didn’t start a political debate, just forgot the first three rules of conversation: don’t bring up religion, politics, or sex. Well too late dorks. I put out a simple question about did anyone know how to help the thousands of children coming over the border without their parents? I am heartsick over this, and that no one seems to be as alarmed as I am. See? I am a paladin at heart some days, and it really does hurt. I try to be a pink paladin, sweetness and diplomacy, but sometimes every problem does look  like a nail and all I have is this hammer. But I did find some good resources, both faith based and otherwise. Their parents must be so heartbroken. No one sends their children into the wilderness unless they are desperate. No one.

So your quest, good heroes of Azeroth: do one good thing today for the real planet, whatever is happening in your corner. Just one good thing. And if you need a tank when you’re not saving the real world, but saving the virtual one, give me a shout.

Here is Jen’s link:


Solstice Advent Challenge: December 3

William Blake. 1757–1827
489. The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies          5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?   10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp   15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?   20
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Solstice Advent Challenge

Tiny Story Time: Burden

Luperci threw off the heavy plate gear with a thundering finality. Startled from her reverie of an amazing tome, Matty almost snapped in anger at her sister’s rudeness. But then she looked at her face.
“I just can’t do this anymore, Matty. I can’t.”
Just then, the cat brought in his catch, a huge Stormwind rat, and dropped it at Luperci’s feet, sauntering away in triumph.
“Look, even the cat has more success than I do!”
Matty put her book down, and removed herself from the wide, warm cushions, that wrapped her like a lullaby. Luperci was in distress: that much was obvious, and did not require a sensitive shaman to figure that one out.
“What can’t you do anymore, Lupe?”
And, as if a second set of invisible armor was lifted and tossed, Luperci laid down another burden. Her sweet cinnamon face folded in tears, though Matty could tell she was trying to still hold them in, that crying was something she wasn’t used to doing.
“Day in, day out, doing nothing but escorting ungrateful trogs to and fro. No matter what I do, it doesn’t seem to matter. I never hear a word of gratitude, or even, well, nothing…and…”
Lupe wiped her now soaking face with the back of her hand; Matty handed her a cloth, and set her down on the warm chair.
“…This guild we are in, Matty, I am sorry to say, but I don’t fit in there. Some of our guild mates are so, stiff and proper, and dare I say, awkward? And that is saying something, coming from me!” Luperci weakly laughed.
Sniffling, she continued, just relieved to pour her heart out. “Matty, I hear more in what they don’t say than in what they do, like they’re constantly judging me. The things they say in battle, Matty, the derision…I feel they are a council of strangers who are not interested in me, or my offerings.”
Matty sighed, and frowned. She never envied her sister going into dungeons and slamming her pretty face against attacks constantly, while others stood back with their magic and melee. Healers—well, even Zep had sent a letter recently that shocked Matty. What had happened to her two sweet sisters? It seemed that the monsters in the world were not really the problem, but those who were supposedly fighting them. The intention of what may have started as heroism turned into bureaucratic entanglement and traps. Like falling into the maw of a beast, chewed and digested on the way down. There was no soft landing.
“I even had the notion yesterday, Matty, that I would listen to the Call to Arms, and go help on the battlefronts. At least there, was I do is my own, and my successes or failures hurt no one but myself.”

Matty had not thought of Luperci ever as a craven, for that was not how their father raised them. Indeed, many brilliant citizens of Azeroth, Horde and Alliance alike, used the military forces as a means of being truly heroic. As long as Luperci wasn’t under the delusion that she could hide behind the shield in battle, and take battles seriously, maybe she would find the success she needed. She wasn’t sure.
But, Matty did know one thing, at least for the next few hours, of what Luperci should do, and this Matty could help her with.
“Baby sister, for now, your burden is not yours to concern yourself with; let me make you some honeymint tea, and I have some Lunar Festival treats, too. And then, you are going to get some sleep for a while. Things always look better in the morning.”
The cat nestled in Luperci’s lap, proud of his gift, and grateful for her warmth. Though the cat couldn’t speak in a language Lupe would understand, he was happy to have her there. She just didn’t notice.

Half-a** Holiday, or "Stop Fighting in the Road."

Compulsively, or usually, I finish projects. This particular winter vacation, however, my actions have been somewhat fragmented. Take the tree down? Sure. Leave three boxes next to it and hope elves come and wrap up the ornaments and haul the carcass away (actually, I pay Boy Scouts to do that). Need those pants ironed? If I lay them next to the iron the wrinkles will magically disappear! Not sure what I had in mind, but now my vacation is almost over, and time to make those resolutions. One year I resolved that I would always match my pairs of socks right out of the dryer, so as to never lose one again, and by God, I managed that one for years.

The point of this tedious thought is this: I feel I am kind of at a crossroads here. I look at my hesitation for just jumping in with Zeptepi into the new dungeons again, or the LFR for that matter, and Luperci the Tripping Tail Tank, as a symptom of a larger malady. I had also intended to use this time to write, let the creative juices baste my imagination turkey (oh wow….I did not just write that), but alas, my muse seems to have gone to the Bahamas and has no intention of coming back. Hell, he left faster than Paul Gauguin can leave his French family for Polynesian goddess. Can’t say I blame him. I stopped and noticed the absurd lack of light here in the northwest this time of year. Only Tom Robbins has been able to describe the Seattle area sky adequately. 
If you want to read a story about a red-headed princess and a wayward rogue, this is your story. Oh, a pack of Camel cigarettes has a starring role, too.
Maybe in the quest for valor I need to look at things differently: first, do the tough ones first, such as the healer or tank, and then dps wünderkind, Mataoka. I’ve been capping out her valor first because it’s easy, with the notion that “I’ll do the others later.” Later doesn’t happen. Second, maybe just say the heck with it. Maybe I am just a leveling dork after all. I did end up giving my death knight Morphemia to someone who can make her shine (she is now a human male DK–change hurts), and so far have no regrets. I have been having a fire-ball leveling Magadora, and my buddy has been helping me get Rökkr to a workable state (she’ll be level 70 soon). The other diversion has been leveling Haanta as a PVP hunter with my dear friend. People can downgrade PVP all they want, but it is a different style of play and strategy that can be very satisfying, and not just when my side wins–though of course that is nice. I treat it more like a game of touch football or pick up basketball game. The level of fun comes from the synergy. And, advice for Tol Barad: defend, defend, defend. And always, stop fighting in the road. Just stake a claim, get it done, and win! 
Time to kick some elves in the tails.

I am such a girl: I found axes with pink handles. 

PS Reading and learning HealBot is one of my game goals:
Some good dwarfs may be sacrificial cadavers before it’s all over.

Theme song:
Well, Beatles’ Why Don’t We Do It In the Road – too obvious
Robert Johnson/Crossroad
The Decemberists/California One

Class lines.

Back in undergrad school, when I was a goofy Fine Arts major, hanging out in the print shop with lithography stones, acid baths, tar, and good paper stock, I was also a waitress at a local pub. (Stop me if I’ve told you this story before.) My working life began at age 9 when I babysit for neighbors’ children, and my first real “social security number on paycheck job” came at age 13 when I worked at a Mongolian barbecue/Chinese restaurant as a busgirl for a Taiwanese family. I am no stranger to hard work, but somehow, have never managed to work equally hard at saving the money. But that comes into play later.

So, I worked as a waitress in college. Nothing extraordinary about that. The particular establishment was around 150 years old, and though I realize in terms of European history, that is nothing, but here in the States, that was considered a pretty old shack. Some famous writer (*cough Poe*) was said to have stayed there when it was an inn. The manager at the time was what I considered a bit grizzled; she had two grown children, and it was rumored that had one point in time she was a stripper. The other manager, also female, loved to put on the jazz station on during our busiest day, Sunday brunch. I hate jazz. (Oh, but what I wouldn’t give for their home-fries and two eggs over-easy…). The layout was such that on the television side there was a small service bar and tables, next to the kitchen, the middle room bigger tables for large groups, and that had two doors that led to the “townie bar,” the main bar with a large mahogany bar, and about twenty bar stools.

Let me explain the colloquialism “townie bar.” Although the pub/restaurant was in a fairly established college town, there were still plenty of working-class folks all around the area. The folks who lived locally, and didn’t attend the college or work there as professors were the ‘townies.’ They dominated the large bar. They were rough, tattooed, gritty, and had more than their share of grease under their fingernails. Probably from all of the Volvos they fixed. We girls learned, (for the manager tended to hire only girls, and the majority of us had brown hair and long legs), that if we needed a break from the frat boys and “ladies who lunched” groups, all we had to do was go into the townie bar, grab an order or two for nachos, and bring them back quickly with a smile. The townies were indeed the best tippers. And I promise you, I was not a mercenary waitress. They always had a kind word, a warm smile, and kept their hands to themselves. It was not an easy place to be a waitress. (Is any waitress job easy?) Their manners and chivalry made the shifts easier.

To contrast: the frat boys. Usually blond. Perfect teeth. Smug. Every Monday night was mug night, nickel drafts, but only if the patrons used a beer mug bought at an exorbitant price first. Cheap beer and college boys are a perfect storm of mess. One night, a dashing young man walked up to me and said something to the effect, “My dear girl, my companion has regurgitated his beer in his mug, pray tell, and would you be so kind as to grab it, and take it in the kitchen and wash it out?”

Insert response here: “Go f83k yourself.” (Here is the cool thing about having an ex-stripper for a boss: she really doesn’t care if you tell some pendejo to GFY.)

There was never, ever an occasion when a townie spoke to me in that way, or treated me with anything short of utmost respect.

Now–why this anecdote about college boys who can’t hold their liquor and working-class Joe’s?

Well, I’m not sure exactly. I do know that I really showed my rear to a friend last night. I know this friend well, and know his personality, as he does mine. He just pissed me off over something stupid. And the story of the townie bar popped in my head at 4:30 am when I was thinking about it.

The thing is, virtual games that involve any sort of resource (the ultimate being time, because you never get that back), are just as deeply complex as life itself. I have friends in WoW who have made me the best gear, using their time and resources freely. I have friends in WoW who have showered me with flasks and flowers, just because they wanted to make sure I was okay. There are those who helped me with a pay-it-forward gesture, or showed me their choice mining routes, or the best place to spend an hour picking up loose change from ghouls. And. lest we forget, my guildmate who left me a treasure trove of in-game goodies, including Vial of the Sands. (I still feel like a favorite uncle died–rather have the friend than the material things.) My priorities may not be my friend’s, or friends.’ I try to make sure things stay balanced and fair in all my friendships, and although the interactions may be in a virtual world, the human emotions are very real. My priorities are this: help each other out, make them fun stuff if I can, use my skills to help everyone have fun, and if I don’t need something, don’t take it. If a player is trying to gear up or increase professional skills, help them. If they need fish, go fish.

Now. I am sorry I was an ass. I know you know everything better than I do, and when you tell me “I’m a tailor” because apparently the orbs are wasted on this profession, I get it now. When you tell me “In 4.3 orbs will be trade-able,” I REALLY get it, because although I am looking forward to this, I also know they will be less valuable. My frustration has been really with that stupid tank –*she* is not feeling very brave about pick up groups lately. All *she* sees is a room full of fraternity boys who have barf in their mugs, and no tip at the end.  Again, I am sorry. That was a whole lot of baggage for one poor little dungeon run, and a strange way of telling you I miss you.

So, a toast to the working man. “To all of the Knights of the Townie Bar, I raise a glass to you, and drink to your long good health. May your waitress always give you warm smiles, and your nachos be hot.”

The next round is on me.

Postscript: For those of you who are worried about the fate of the barfed-in mug, have no fear. Another waitress hopped right over and cleaned it out. This same waitress cheated with my then-boyfriend, who himself, was the ultimate pendejo.

Postscript #2:
Theme song: Len/Steal My Sunshine

Postscript #3: thank you for the letter.

Curb your consecration.

Daenys the Warrior on Bourbon Street

I don’t like being the ‘dumb one’ sometimes. I really like knowing things, actually, or being growth-minded enough to look for answers. Occasionally, perhaps, I simply take advice without any research, and I need to find out for myself.

I was told by two respected paladins to stop using consecrate. The diminishing returns for its effectiveness do not outweigh its cost/benefit analysis of mana and damage. I moved it far, far away on the action bar, and have been focusing on other damaging tanking attributes.

Last evening, guildmate organized a few Zul runs. They went, well…okay. I still have a lot to learn, but my healer buddy said I did great, but still need some practice on J’in Do. (I had trouble keeping him just outside the bubble as I knew I was supposed to: how he kept getting in I am not sure. Think another player left a key under the mat. Blaming the mage on this one.) Guildmate very politely, (hard to read tone in party chat), says, “Um, Maty, I hate to [tell you what to do] but you really don’t use consecrate enough.” The response I give him is what the other paladins told me, (both long-standing members of the guild, trying to gain respect from him I guess), and his shocked reply was incredulous.

Azeroth is as dynamic as any environment. Change is constant. Keeping up with spell and skill changes is a challenge. Am I always going to be the last to know? Wonder when I’ll get my geek on and say in Comic Book Guy voice, “Well, for your information, there were patch notes which you OBVIOUSLY didn’t read, and you would have KNOWN about the .39% decrease in spell damage….”

To the collective WoW universe: I am putting the call out: whatever you know about using consecrate as a Protection Paladin would be most appreciated. I may be stepping in a pile of ‘walked dog’ on this one, but I would like your thoughts.

Going to this site for a dork like me is kind of like asking Uther himself for advice:

Maybe I just better start here:

That’s just like, your opinion man.

 Someone’s Original Artwork for Which I Cannot Find the Reference

Haven’t been playing Luperci much lately. Was kind of saving myself for tonight: a guildmate scheduled painless Zul runs, because still being in PUGs with those can hurt. Besides, I need loot redemption for those damned plate shoulders I passed on last time by mistake. (*Bangs head on desk, doesn’t see red Swingline stapler and it leaves a mark.*)

GM basically implied the other day I am too nice to tank. He is not. 
I am not sure the superlative ‘nicest tank ever’ applies to me, but perhaps lack of confidence does. So, I’ll get back in there, and do my best. And try to get those shoulders: stronger ones might help me hold up those standing on them better.

Postscript: Situation: Cranky dwarf with a chip on his shoulder over his brewing techniques feels slighted. Luperci goes in there everyday to have a chat. Does fine. No one has ever died. Until this morning. Druid dies immediately. Then everyone struggles – and the priest dies next. I barely hang on and have to use LOH on COREN DIREBREW.

I don’t know. Beats the sh*t out of me.

Apparently, this is an opportunity for the healer to criticize my tanking skills. “Tank didn’t have on righteous fury.” (I did. Didn’t I? Did the buff drop off the second I went in there? Second guessing and self-doubt: worse than bosses.) Crixa still has issues.

That’s right nimrods and numbnuts: I saved the day. You’re welcome.

 Oh well. My shield is going to start to reflect back to you players. I honestly do not care if a DPS dies. It happens. You pull the baddies to you, think you can take them all on, and then wonder why you…can’t. There are some solid reasons why there are roles, delegated responsibilities. We don’t care if our DPS is highest–we are your shoulders to stand on and rock. Needed a little redemption after this, and sure enough, did great. Coren got that chipped knocked off of him in no time flat, no muss, no fuss.

On the plus side, Matty did win the Swift Ram! 
Comes with cup holders.