July 16, 2009

So, I heard that leveling an alt could be a great way to get rid of some stress and enjoy the game from a low level view again. Because of this I rolled a druid some time back in the days, eager to feel my stress vanish like epic loot in front of a happy ninja. I brought a loveable little cow to the world, let it giggle as it mooed around, and spent my time picking on lvl 2 boars. Life was good. For some reason tho, I let that little calf sleep in the Crossroads for months and months. Until now.

As the summer vacation hit me like a blastwave with hopes of relaxation and good times, I noticed how my guildies went on vacation and watched all chances of a 25 man raid wither away. Like the mana of a sucky healer, like my HP when engaging in combat, you name it. So after staring helplessly at Dalaran for some hours, Orgrimmar some more and the wall in my room for the rest of the day, I realized I needed something to do. I needed some way to have a little fun in the game, some way to see Azeroth from another angle. I needed all the things they said an alt would bring. And yes, then I dug up my little druid cow.


And well, there I was. A tad confused in the middle of the deserted Crossroads, glaring at my little low lvl with a pretty retarded look. Yes. Fun. That’s what I’m aiming for. So I ran into the Barrens and spammed wrath on some zebras. Wasn’t that bad really, on some points it was like playing a more furry version of my lvl 80 mage. Feeling my motivation rise slightly, I picked up the pace and watched my baby calf ding a few times. I started to gather up talent points, and before I knew it I was watching the back of a little stealthing kitty. And the fun? Growing, growing, growing. I enjoyed myself like a fat kid at Burger King.

Then came the time I started to wonder where to execute my killing sprees, and I got a little restless. Hillsbrad Foothills? Yea, sure. Cleared all the quests I could find, until I suddenly faced a bunch of lvl 30-something nagas. I was 24. Being a generaly optimistic I kicked on my stealth and did my very best. About 4 seconds later I believe I used the word “fuck” about ten times in guild chat. My happy-happy alt time got a little not-so-happy wound, bleeding negative thoughts. So I realized I was on a bit too deep water, (no crappy pun intended, mind you,) and headed into a little farmer city to kill some humans. Things went great, really. I stealthed like the imba rogue kitten I am, and pulled a little man to beat him up alone. His HP sank as my optimism rose, and the whole naga nightmare was nearly forgotten. Until the son of a bitch ran away in fear. I mean, hell, if I’m that terrifying, I’d rather have them freeze up and stare at me like deer caught in headlights. But nay, that little whimp ran away to all his friends; a bunch of sissy-sissy-boys in robes. Again my guild chat trembled under my foul language.


Looking for a new chance to boost my once-so-good moods, I turned my bloody nose towards Ashenwale. Mmmm, a quiet forest with little sunlight and big, comfortable trees. Everything I needed. I picked up some quests and immediately headed to kill some stealthing night elves next to our camp. They fell like flies, and life was all good again. My confidence rose again, and I thought I had found that golden feeling of enjoyable leveling once more. Strutting with optimism and cheerfulness I prowled my way into the camp of some whimpy satyrs, and could feel my ding creep closer for each breath I took. Until I noticed that the satyrs had imps. The motherfucking shitfucks of screwed up Ashen-fuckin-wale had fucking imp-fucks to guard them. And I fucking hit the dust. And you know what? I logged off. I suddenly remembered why I had the that little furball rot on the shelf. Having an alt is not getting rid of stress, it’s the best test of anger management you can find online. I’m not giving up on this cow, I’m not. I’m just kicking back to find more swear words and some inner peace to get rid of. Because that’s my way of alting.

I’m ususally not all that supportive when it comes to everything Blizzard lets you do to your character. New haricut? Gotcha. New gender. No probs. New name, new server, and the chance to ninja loot as much as possible and then go undercover? Anytime you want, hun’. However, I just had a little peek at, and got a glance at the new kitty forms of the Tauren. The new bear forms were great and all, and in my opinion really needed the chance. But the cat forms? Oh. My. I want to roll drood myself now, just to get that perfectly dark kitty look. They’ve gone from retarded cat with horn and a generally ugly facade, to what looks like some semi-evil voodoo lion. If you’re by any chance a druid, congratulations! I envy you now.