August 14, 2009

A little while back, Blog Azeroth had a shared topic on “Why are there so many/few <insert class> blogs?”. Personally I just answered that question in my own head after a few seconds. “It’s fun and interesting and you learn. And apparently, if you’re a resto druid, you have a gene forcing you to blog about it. Yes.” That was really the end of the story there. But then it hit me. “Why on Earth ain’t there more blogs about races?” I mean. I could easily blog on about how friggin’ amazing the Forsaken are, if given enough caffeine and patience.

First of all, one of the best things about us undead babes, is how we do our first steps out in Azeroth. To make a little contrast, I’ll first look a bit on how the Tauren are given life. They just pop on in Mulgore. Imagine taking a little stroll in those lush and calm fields, and suddenly, POP! There’s a tauren standing next to you, whimpering a little moo into the air and looking more than just a tiny bit baffled. I mean, where’s the logic in that? Every minute a little POP! fills the air of Mulgore, followed by what I can imagine must be a rather confused little moo. I would’ve crapped my shitty lvl 1 tunic i I were a tauren, suddenly just existing in the middle of some grassy fields with no knowledge of anything.


So, let’s now look at us, the undead sweethearts of Azeroth. When we’re born, we’re not really born at all. Or, maybe you could say we’re born again. The thing about being a forsaken is that we don’t just POP! and go “Moo?”, we just yawn and wake up after a pretty harsh sleep. We’ve been minions of the Scourge, ripping the guts outta our families and such, and now we’ve decided to prance around in the world again. Therefore, our beginning consists of us crawling out of a crypt, snarling at the visions of daylight yet again. Isn’t that just perfect? Then we head out into the streets to blow the head of what might’ve been our siblings, lovers or neighbours before the plague. I mean. That’s got some magic to it, don’t you think?

While scratching my head for a little while now, I think I’ve actually solved the mystery of the lack of race blogs out in the blogosphere. Could you imagine a tauren starting a blog about its own race? “Hello. I’m MooMoo the cow, and one day I just went POP!.” I’m not sure how many readers that would attract, other that more taurens commenting on it with “Omg, mooo, me to. That so happened to me last week, moo!” And then, let’s look at the forsaken. What would you have done after lying in a smelly crypt for ages? Rip the rotting heart of your old family and friends, or blog about it?

Case closed, yarr?



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.

You amuse me

May 27, 2009

Yes Blizzard, you do amuse me. After playing this game for quite some time now, you still hold the ability to put a smile on my face. It can be everything from a glowing grin to a half-hidden smile, but in the end you still amuse me. Take Naxxramas as an example if you want: every run I’ve ever had in that place, has started with a frantic search for lil’ Mr. Bigglesworth. Is he some rare spawn boss with insanely good epic drops? Nay. How about a hard-to-find-vendor that will give you cookies and buffs for nothing? Nope. He’s the little kittycat of the evil, hateful, ice cold and heartless lich named Kel’Thuzad. Really, thank you Blizzard for making me giggle every I see the piece of fur die. I’m no sadist or anything, don’t get me wrong. I just love how Mr. I’m-such-a-stone-cold-and-hard-boss cries out to mourn his dead kitty. Not really that cold after all, are we?

And then you have the Draenei. Yes, yes, I know the lore and all the sad stories. I’ve read about Velen, Archimonde and Kil’jaeden, I’m fully aware of what they mean in the Warcraft universe. But still, come on. Nothing you can say or do takes away the fact that this is the people with squids stuck to their faces. Deer legs, dino-tails and some aquatic creature stuck to their jawbone? If you grasped together a bunch of things labeled “strange”, tossed them in a blender and pushed the button with an “Amuse me”-sign, you can bet your litte bum that the result would be one of the Exodar kids. I don’t mind tho. Make me smile a tad when I stumble upon one of them.
Another thing I love to run into , as long as it’s someone from the Horde, are rogues dressed up in the new tier gear. Have you seen them? If not, you’ve been missing something. The head part of that gear is really the art of stealthing and being a rogue perfected. Curious yet? Well. To tell it simplified, it’s as if a rogue ganked something really ugly. Then skinned it. And then snuck his own head into the freshly looted skin, going “Oh hai thar, I just thought that by ripping the skin of this elf and using it as a little hood, I’d have a great way to disguise myself. No?” It looks morbide, it’s looks wrong, and it looks so gosh darned amusing there’s no way to end it. Thank you Mr. Blizzard designer with a tiny bit of freakish humor.

In the end, there’s heaps of NPCs, quests and items that might make you smile a bit. Like Haris Pilton, or Harrison Jones. Like Larion and Muigin in Un’Goro. (I am a bit too devoted to Nintendo, I admit.) Like the squidmen of the Exodar, and the elf skin hat of the t8 gear. And that poor, poor little kitty in Naxxramas that has died so many times for my entertainment. Thank you kitty, for giving your life up for my laughs. And thank you Blizzard for making my giggle possible. You do amuse me.