Timetabling Life

Ok this is my first proper Bravetank post written on my new netbook – a Christmas present from my lovely husband and father-in-law. It enables me to write my blog posts while sitting curled up on the sofa in a posture never ever recommended in any work DSE assessments. It’s all very nice and cosy aside from the fact that bloody Gulliver’s Travels is on in the background (don’t get me started on Jack Black) and the netbook is stopping me from typing every five seconds to ask solicitously whether I want to install this or that update and did I know that this or that application is very resource intensive etc – basically it’s like an anxious grandmother asking me if I’m studying too hard or want to put on an extra layer. It will not stop nagging me and when I ignore the messages it flashes icons at me – passively aggressively rebuking me and my lacksadaisical attitude to updates.

Anyway – I have been thinking today about what I want out of WoW in the year ahead. In fact not just WoW – what I want out of my life basically. But this is all so cliched I’m actually cringing as I write it. The New Year draws near I’m thinking about next year – goals, objectives, aspirations. I hate being so predictable. Why can’t I be sitting here thinking about the best way to clip a pig’s toe nails or something (do pigs even have toes or should I be thinking more in terms of hooves?) Actually I’m not just thinking about everything I want to do in 2012 – my crazy need (although husband sweetly tells me it’s endearing) to compartmentalise everything means I’m actually anxiously sitting here pie-charting up my daily week into something that will enable me to be 2012’s “Renaissance Girl” (complete with catsuit and cloak – the catsuit has musical notes on it, the cloak has a talent tree embroidered on the back). This means WoW player (tank mainly of course – but with time for all my alts), blogger, keyboard player, script writer, runner, and culture and current affairs guru.

This on top of my actual job in which I want to be successful, impressive, forward thinking and so innovative I continually astound everyone with my insights and forecasts (which means finding time outside work to research new ideas, innovations and developments). Of course in my fantasy every board meeting in which I impress with this or that idea ends with someone handing me an electric guitar with which I then astound everyone with my musical talents, and then autograph my novel that has just won the Booker prize.

Ok- back to reality- I would also like to eat out more, go camping regularly, be a loving family member and have a wonderful skin care regime.

And drink more water.

Aaaaahhh!!! How can I do it all? Earlier I sat here reading one of the books I had for Xmas (Anne Tyler- Searching for Caleb) I’m half thinking about the other books I had (if you’re interested- Graham Greene,The Heart of the Matter; Emma Forrest, Your Voice in my Head; Charlie Brooker, The Hell of It All; Blake Morrison, The Last Weekend; Sarah Waters, Fingersmith; Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway; David Foster Wallace, Girl with Curious Hair and the Alan Partridge biography) – thinking which one I will read next and how quick I can do it so I can read the next, then the next etc.

In fact I never fully focus on anything while I do it – as I watch TV I think about how I can become more knowledgeable about current affairs. As  I run I think about doing my own WoW podcast (we need more Welsh accents in WoW broadcasting I think!) and when I play Bravetank I worry that my shaman (or some other dps) is being neglected.

What is the answer to all this? I want to achieve so much and enjoy so much. I get wildly excited about silly things (I jumped up and down earlier when I discovered we had some herbal tea in the house!) but then I quickly get overwhelmed with it all (not so much by the herbal tea- I think I’ve settled on the one I want). And then I get fearful that something awful will happen and I won’t be able to do any of it anyway and then I know if that happens I’ll will think back to this exact time when I got stressed about how much I wanted to do and think, “Those were the glory days alright- now I’ve ruined it all by not appreciating it when I had it.” The other day I was enjoying myself reading when the thought struck me that one day I might go blind. I hope Peter will read to me then, I thought to myself, so I’ll still have the pleasure of books. But what if you’re deaf came the next thought. Braille? I suggested to myself – but already I was wondering how you learn braille if you’re both blind and deaf – I mean how do you know what the word you’re feeling is? Then I started thinking about the scene from the Helen Keller film when Anne finally understands what water is – but how would that have worked for complex philosophical ideas I wondered? (Though thinking about it if I was struck both blind and deaf would my first question be how do I now read deep philosophical ideas? I suspect not.) Anyway on and on it went. You see where I’m going with this – every time I enjoy myself in the moment I have the fear of that moment being taken away from me forever and I have to immediately come up with some sort of plan as to what I would  do if that did happen.

In fact this is the exact thing that stops me tanking as much as I want to. I think – what if this or that happens, what if I get lost, what if the DPS criticise me, what if, what if, what if. I’m either timetabling my life or contingency planning.

I had my Myers Briggs results in work last week – I am INTJ – but the T was very slight and my extreme dislike of any degree of conflict suggests more P. But the J was very strong. J dominates my life. I think that’s good in work, and good to a point outside work, but when I’m sitting here dividing all my spare time into half hour blocks so I can become Renaissance Girl extraordinaire it’s gone too far.

Live in the moment everyone says but when I think of that I imagine myself just standing there gazing around me vacantly -  doing nothing & thinking nothing. And that terrifies me. And yet as I toss and turn in bed, twitch and kick out when I sleep, dream about work, plan and re-plan, worry and stress I think maybe that’s just what I need – some silence, some stillness, some peace. But what happens then?

Anslym’s Bravetank Bungle Christmas Edition

Roving reporter Anslym has sent me the attached fantastic Christmas edition of the bugle for the Furtive Father Winter event. Click here to read. The depth of news covered by Anslym has never been seen on the Bugle before – this is one reporter whose finger is certainly on the pulse of all things Azeroth. Thank you Anslym. Please click here to visit Anslym’s blog

Bravetank Bugle 3

Hello all Hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season (if you’re celebrating!). I’m in full festive mood – but I always am when there’s chocolate, nuts and books Please click here for the 3rd Bravetank Bugle . Also visit Effraeti’s RP blog if you would like to read my Furtive Father Winter event gift to her in which Bravetank tries roleplaying!

Bravetank’s Winterveil Carol

Bravetank’s Winterveil Carol
(all good bits grudgingly acknowledged as belonging to Charles Dickens)

Sylvanus was undead to begin with. Sylvanus was as undead as a door nail infected by the plague of undeath – although the Scourge tend not to infect door nails since door nails can’t run very fast and are rubbish in a fight. Anyway this must be understood (the Sylvanus bit not the fact door nails can’t run- if you don’t know that you shouldn’t be anywhere near a computer) or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

Bravetank had never painted out Sylvanus’s name from the guild house although her old guild leader was definitely undead. Sylvanus had been affectionately called Raggy Doll in real life and the guild kept the same name – in homage to her and the curious floppiness of her limbs when alive.

Oh Bravetank was a selfish old guild leader and a very bad tank. And Winterveil made not one ounce of difference.

One dark Winterveil night Bravetank sat in the guild house lazily skimming through the Elitest Jerks website.

“Merry Winterveil, Bravetank!” Her newest guildee Totallieemadeupperson (Tottie for short) came into the room.

“Bah!” said Bravetank, “Humbug!”

“Winterveil a humbug, Bravetank!” Tottie said. “You surely don’t mean that?”

“If I could work my will,” said Bravetank, “Every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Winterveil ’ on his lips would be forcefed mana cookies and have a harvest pumpkin stuck up his….

“Whoa there Bravetank. Chill out. It’s only a game. Come for a dungeon run tomorrow.”

“Bah, humbug!”

“Why cannot we be in a group?” cried Tottie. “I don’t understand. But Merry Winterveil anyway Bravetank, Merry Winterveil!”

“Good-bye!” said Bravetank.

As Tottie left he let another person in – an arms Warriors and therefore rather useless in Bravetank’s eyes. He bowed to Bravetank.

“Bravetank or Ms. Raggy Doll?” asked the Warrior.

“The Raggy Doll herself became undead seven years ago this very night,” said Bravetank.

“Shame that,” said the Warrior, “Always had a bit of a thing for her. But anyway a few of us are going to give some newbies some armor and weapons and maybe even an 8 slot bag. What would you like to give?”

“Nothing,” said Bravetank. “They can go to the auction house.”

“Many would rather die.”

“If they would rather die,” said Bravetank, “They had better do it, and decrease the godawful lag in Stormwind these days. Good afternoon, Warrior!”

The Warrior left and Bravetank went back to her computer.

The night drew in. Suddenly there was a weird and really irritating noise. Bravetank got up and looked out the door. A Singing Sunflower.

“La La La…”

Bravetank grabbed the weed spray she kept by the door for just this occasion. The Sunflower saw it coming and glided away in horror.

Then another guildee who had been sitting unseen in the corner….let’s call him Cob Bratchit shall we, stood up and put on his cloak. He had been aimlessly reading WoW Insider and chuckling to himself that Bravetank’s blog wasn’t yet good enough yet for Anne Stickney to feature – but now it was time to go.

“You’ll want all day tomorrow, I suppose?” said Bravetank.

“It’s only once a year,” said Cob, “I’ll be back in guild chat the day after.”

“A poor excuse for picking a person’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December even from a rogue such as yourself!” said Bravetank. “Be here all the earlier the next day, there will be gossiping to be done.”

After Cob had gone Bravetank herself left the guildhouse and went home (since WoW does not have player housing she was basically squatting in a house in Goldshire and claiming it as her own).

The knocker on the door to the house was usually very ordinary. But tonight as Bravetank approached it seemed to change shape and look like old Sylvanus’s face with wide open eyes and snarling teeth. Bravetank looked closer. No she was wrong. It was her own face reflected in the shiny knocker. She really could do with a facial and rethinking the snarl she admitted to herself as she entered the house.

She made some soup and took it to eat by the fire. But as she sat down she heard a loud clanking noise, as if a heavy chain was being dragged on the floor.

Suddenly the living room door opened and in came Sylvanus dragging a chain made of lock boxes and obsolete dungeon keys behind her.

“Who are you?” said Bravetank.

“In WoW life I was your partner, Sylvanus the Raggy Doll.”

“Humbug!”

At this Sylvanus raised a bansheee cry, shook her chain and then wiggled her hips. Next thing she was in musical show dance mode and performing an impressive rendition of The Music Man. Bravetank watched patiently – even during the boring bits.

When Sylvanus had finished and taken five encores she asked Bravetank, “Now do you believe in me?”

“I do,” said Bravetank. “I must anyway. The undead are a playable race. I have one myself on another server. But why do you come to me? And why are you chained?”

“I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link. Took me bloody ages. Then I used it in the bedroom …. aaah the games me and my partner liked,” said Sylvanus with a little grin, “You could do with a chain like this I reckon…. but anyway where were we? Yes you – you need to sort yourself out girl.

“Me. In what way?”

“Groups,” cried Sylvanus. “In my life groups should have been my business and they should be your’s now. Even PuGs if you have to. You need to get in there and tank. And I am here tonight to warn you that you will be haunted by three spirits.”

“No thanks,” said Bravetank firmly, “I’d rather not.”

“Expect the first tonight,” said Sylvanus, “when the bell tolls one. Then expect the second at two. And so on and so forth. It’ll all be over by four o’clock … unless the greedy sods try and push for some overtime.”

After she had said these words she disappeared and Bravetank found herself tucked up in bed about to fall asleep.

But then she heard the chimes. It was one o’clock already.

Light flashed and the curtains of her bed (she liked a good four poster) parted. Bravetank found herself face to face with a strange figure—small, green, wearing goggles. In other words a bloody goblin.

“Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold?” asked Bravetank

The voice was squawky and rough. “Time is money friend. I am the Ghost of Christmas past.”

“Long past?” asked Bravetank, rather pedantically.

“No. Your past.”

“My past, or my player Michelle’s past?”

“Your f%$&king past, now shut up and come with me.”

The goblin clasped her by the arm and together they passed through the wall. They were on the road to Duskwood.

“Goodness,” said Bravetank. “I started out in this place!” She wiped away a little tear (thinking of old Mor’Laidim – she’d had a crush on him even though he had brutally killed her one hundred times).

“You remember the way?” asked the Spirit.

“Remember it!” cried Bravetank. “It’s a straight bloody road. How twp do you think I am (“twp” is a Welsh word meaning stupid or dull – this is an educational read too).

They walked along the road. Bravetank saw Stitches in the distance, embroidering. Commander Althea walked by. Everything was rather merry.

“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Spirit. “They do not see us. But come. The townhall is not quite deserted. A lonely tank, neglected by her guildees, is there still.”

They approached the town hall and entered. In the back was Bravetank, alone, practicing her blocking  moves with a brick. It was sad as hell.

“I wish …” Bravetank muttered.

“What do you wish?” asked the Spirit.

“Nothing,” said Bravetank. “It’s just … there was a Sunflower singing at the door earlier. I should have given it something that’s all.”

“Don’t encourage them,” the Spirit rebuked, “Annoying little shits. Worse thing Blizzard ever introduced. They give me the creeps!”

Suddenly the door opened and a little mage came blinking in.

“I have come to take you to the Stockades dear Bravetank!” said the mage. “We’re to be together all Winterveil long and collect lots and lots of loot from old Hogger.”

“Your mage friend,” said the Spirit. “Always a delicate little creature. They all are. Clothies. But she had a large heart  …no not heart…fireball I mean. I always get those two mixed up!”

“So she had,” said Bravetank.

“She brought another guildee into The Raggy Dolls,” said the Spirit, “Tottie I think, you saw him earlier (scroll back up dear reader if you’ve forgotten who the hell Tottie is – can’t blame you – this is a much longer story than I realised. Bloody Muppets made it seem much shorter.)

“Yes,” said Bravetank, looking rather sad.

The Spirit clapped his hands together. All at once they were in Westfall, in Moonbrook

“Do you know where we are?” asked the Spirit.

“Know it!” said Bravetank. “It’s the Deadmines. I got my first blue belt here.”

Suddenly a tall warlock with his pet imp out walked by. Bravetank cried out in excitement.

“Why it’s old Wiggifuz the Warlock, alive again!”

Bravetank’s old guild leader Wizzifug was cleverly summoning a group, including Bravetank’s former self. Once all were present Wizzifug called out in a warlocky voice,

“No more questing tonight guys. It’s Winterveil Eve. Let’s go in the Deadmines.”

“Yay!” exclaimed the mage, healer and hunter (no group is ever perfect). Bravetank’s old self equipped her shield and the five entered the dungeon.

The run was like a dance – so well prepared and expert were they. And all level 40s. Pointless run really. They only did it to look cool and because they kept getting their asses kicked in Scarlet Monastery Cathedral.

But old Bravetank looking on enjoyed it all. She even tried to join in a bit on the ship at the end and made herself look rather the foolish. The Spirit pretended not to notice. When it was over Bravetank clapped.

“Isn’t Wiggifuz wonderful?”

“A small matter,” said the Spirit, “to help this group kill Cookie.”

“Small,” said Bravetank. “It isn’t that. He had the power to make our run a pleasure or a toil. He could have brought the annoying succubus out but he didn’t. The happiness he gave us by reminding me to stop for the healer’s mana breaks and to make the hunter put his away his bear was amazing. You don’t see it these days.”

She stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“Nothing,” muttered Bravetank.

“Something, I think,” said the Spirit.

“No,” said Bravetank, “It’s just – I wish I had the Raggy Doll guildees here right now.
That’s all.”

“Come with me,” said the Spirit, “I have one more thing to show you before I go.”

There was another clap and a blur and Bravetank saw her younger self again, not alone but this time sat by a strong handsome wonderful (yes he’s reading!) Paladin healer, aka pocket healer, aka hubby healer.

“It matters little to you,” said healer hubby angrily (what’s new?). “Another healer has taken my place. It is your love of the Druid restoration tree. But Holy Light is better. And yes sometimes I know I forget to Beacon you. And yes I know I sometimes cleanse you instead of healing you. But what do you want …perfection. Five deaths a run is not that bad. Anyway good-bye. May you be happy in the group life you have chosen!”

“Spirit!” cried Bravetank, “Show me no more! I cannot bear it!”

The Spirit disappeared. Bravetank found herself back in her own bedroom. Exhausted she sank into a heavy sleep…..for all of one minute. Again the bloody bell tolled. This time twice.
Bravetank sat up. There was a noise in the next room. She got up and walked  to the door, opened it and looked inside.

It was – weirdly enough- Ironforge – and there was great Greatfather Winterveil surrounded with presents.

“Come in and know me better man…I mean woman …a woman Tank…what’s the world coming to. Anyway I am the Ghost of Christmas present,” said the Spirit. “You have never seen the like of me before!”

“Well every year in Ironforge I do,” said Bravetank, “If I can be bothered to go there. Don’t usually. Sick of finding Metzen.”

“Touch my robe!” said the Spirit.

“I’m not falling for that again…there was this warrior once in an inn …I’d had a bit to drink, “ said Bravetank, “And…”

Impatiently the Spirit grabbed Bravetank’s hand and thrust it on his ….shoulder (keep it clean, keep it clean). Suddenly they stood outside – it was Winterveil morning.

The spirit led Bravetank straight to his guildee’s house. Inside was Mrs. Bratchit.

“Where is Cob?” said Mrs Bratchit to the other guildees. “And poor Dwarven Darren.”

At this the door opened and in came Cob with Dwarven Darren upon his shoulders – drunk….again. He held a little crutch in his hand. “Look what I nicked,” he exclaimed, happily, “That little fella, short arsed Tim or something, never saw me coming.”

“I won’t bother asking how Dwarven Darren behaved then,” said Mrs Bratchit ruefully.

“Well he had his moments,” said Cob. “He told me that he hoped the people in Stormwind Cathedral saw him because he was a bit tipsy, and it might be good for them to remember he who turned water into wine on this night of all nights.”

“Alchemist Andy?”

“That’s the fella.”

At last the food was set out and Cob proposed a toast “A Merry Winrterveil to us all. God bless us!”

“God bless us every one!” added Dwarven Darren, “But in particular Alchemist Andy. I love him.” He then slumped unconscious over the table with his head in his plate.

“Spirit,” said Bravetank, “tell me if Dwarven Darren will live through the hangover I can see coming?”

“I see a vacant seat,” replied the Spirit, “and in the corner, a crutch without an owner and Dwarven Darren on his knees in the alley behind the house. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future he will be sick. Definitely.”

“No, no,” said Bravetank. “Oh, no, kind spirit, say he will be spared. The vomit reflex is so unpleasant. And sometimes it goes in your hair.”

“If these shadows remain unaltered he will be sick. Deffo.” said the Spirit. “What then? If he is sick he is at home and surely that is better – it will decrease the surplus population and godawful lag in Stormwind.”

Bravetank hung her head in shame.

Suddenly she heard her own name.

“Bravetank!” toasted Cob, “I’ll give you Bravetank, the founder of our guild!”

“The founder of the guild indeed!” cried Mrs Bratchit angily.

“My dear,” said Cob, “It’s Winterveil after all.”

“I’ll drink her health for your sake then and the other guildees,” said Mrs Bratchit, “but not for her. So … a long life to her! May her spirit healer runs be infrequent.”

The scene faded. Suddenly Bravetank was in Tottie’s house with the Spirit standing by her side.

“Ha, ha!” laughed Tottie. “Bravetank said that Winterveil was a humbug”

“More shame for her, Tottie!” said his friend, Nonnie (short for No Name- I’m getting tired now).

“She’s a good old girl,” said Tottie, “But some deep rooted issues. I mean… have you read her blog….! But she is our guild leader. Anywhoo let’s stop talking about her and start reading up on some raid tactics….one day…one day…she’ll come round to our way of thinking.”

Bravetank and the Spirit left Tottie’s house. Bravetank noticed that the Spirit was growing older.

“Is your life so short?” asked Bravetank.

“My life upon Azeroth is very brief, but annual. So can’t complain,” replied the Spirit.

At that the bell struck three. Greatfather Winterveil disappeared and was replaced with another Spirit – one with no head. It was only the bloody Headless Horseman! Out and about even though it wasn’t Hallow’s End. Incredible.

The Headless Horseman approached Bravetank and stood silently before her.

“Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas yet to come?” asked Bravetank. “Is that so? I fear you more than any Spirit I have seen.Will you not speak to me?”

It gave her no reply but pointed at the gap where the head should have been and shrugged.

Together they walked off and found themselves in the centre of Stormwind. The spirit stopped beside a group of nightelves and pointed. Bravetank went closer to listen.

“No,” said one night elf, “I only know she’s dead and refusing to resurrect.”

“When did she die?” asked another.

“Last night, I think.”

“What has she done with her bank slots?”

“I haven’t heard,” said the original night elf. “But I do know she was too tight to buy many anyway. Used to really irritate her healer hubby.”

Bravetank knew the night elves…or their sort anyway …level one players who liked to dance naked on mailboxes. She looked towards the Spirit for an explanation of their words.

Nothing. Still no head.

The Spirit then took her to Cob’s house. Most of them (except Cob and Dwarven Darren) were seated around the fire, inscribing.

Mrs Bratchit suddenly set her ink down on table, and put her hand up to her face, leaving a black smudge which was rather humourous it must be said. “ It is past Cob’s coming home time,” she said mournfully.

One of the guildees replied, “I think he has walked a little slower than he used to these past few evenings.”

Mrs Bratchit sighed.  “He used to walk with Dwarven Darren upon his shoulders, very fast indeed – considering how much Dwarven Darren liked his food.”

There was a noise outside. “Ahh there Cob is,” she said.

She hurried out to meet him. Cob was crying. He couldn’t help it.

She brought him inside and they sat by the the fire. Cob told them of the kindness of all the people he had run into when walking home. Then, weeping, he said, “I am so sorry about it all. Gutted I am. I am sure none of us wil forget poor Dwarven Darren.”

“Never!” they cried.

But suddenly the door opened and in strode Darren.

“What do you want?” said Cob.

“Am I not welcome on Winterveil because I’ve decided to become teetotal?” asked Darren shocked.

“It’s boring Darren,” said Cob, “We all liked you drunk, I liked you sitting on my shoulders.”

“It was a bit kinky if you ask me,” said Darren

“Get out,” cried Cob. “We don’t want your spring water drinking sort in here.”

Darren left. Sad. Sober.  But still a dwarf at least.

The Spirit then led Bravetank to a graveyard. He pointed towards the hovering Spirit Healer. Then in Bravetank’s head was a flash and she saw an image of her own body lying lifeless in Blackrock Depths. She was clearly refusing to retrieve her corpse and stubbornly waiting for a healer to run back.

“Answer me one question,” said Bravetank to the Spirit. “Are these the shadows of the things that will definitely be, or are they shadows of things that might only be?”

The Spirit pointed once again to his absent head and stamped his foot as if to say, “When will you get the bloody message. I cannot talk. Don’t know how I do it at Hallow’s End but really once beheaded you stop being able to talk. Read up about it in any bloody anatomy book.” (All conveyed with a stamp by the way- could have been a mime artist in a different life.)

“Spirit,” cried Bravetank, clutching her Raggy Dolls tabard, “Hear me … I am not the tank I was. I promise I will honour Winterveil. I will resurrect and run back to my body. I will help heal fellow group members after a wipe even though I’m the tank not healer. And I will remember the healer needs time for mana and all the group need time to loot. I will live in the past, the present, and the future – yes I will go in Caverns of Time.”

At this the Spirit disappeared. Everything swirled and Bravetank found herself at home, in her bed.

“Oh Sylvanus,” she cried to the empty room happily. “Thank you for this night. It has transformed me.” At this Sylvanus entered from the kitchen. Apron on. “Oh good you’re back. Happier now? Going to introduce the old chains in the bedroom eh? Good. I knew that would do the trick. Now how do you like your eggs?”

“I don’t know what to do!” cried Bravetank. “I am as light as a feather…. oooh feathers….. I have a few I need to sell in the auction house. I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. Oh drunken -I must find Dwarven Darren and pour a pint down his neck. Hair of the dog is what he needs!”

She left her house in a hurry.

“What’s today!” she cried to a newbie Level 5 she saw outside who seemed to be trying to kiss a Winterveil reveller.

“Today?” replied the Level 5. “I think it’s Winterveil Day.”

“Good,” said Bravetank. “I haven’t missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night. Ok my fine fellow…”

“I’m female actually but I’ve made my character male,” said the Level 5.

“Ooookay. Anyway do you know the inn behind you?” Bravetank asked.

“I should hope so – just made it my home so I did now,” replied the Level 5, who suddenly seemed to think he was Irish.

“An intelligent newbie!” said Bravetank. “Remarkable! Go back in there for me and buy me some ale.

“Do it yourself you lazy git,” said the Level 5, “What do you think I am. Your bloody peon? I have five level 85s you know. Look at me. I’m in heirlooms.”

“Oh!” said Bravetank, who didn’t even know any 85s. “Ok I’ll do it myself.”

So in she went and bought the ale. She then walked down the street to the guildhouse, saying Merry Winterveil to all she passed. None of the NPCs responded. The game lacks plausible interaction sometimes.

She had not gone far when she came across the Warrior who’d asked her for spare weapons and armor the day before. She quickly went up to him and handed over her shield.

“Lord bless me Bravetank! Are you serious?”

“It’s my pleasure. Crap stats on that and it needs repairing. But still it’s free and oddly enough not soul bound. So don’t complain.”

She carried on down the street to the guildhouse.

“Tottie!” said Bravetank as she entered. “Why bless my soul!” cried Tottie, “Who’s that?”

“It is I. Your guild leader Bravetank. I have come to talk about raids. A raiding guild we will be!”

“Yes,” said Tottie, emoting a clenched fist in the air. “Finally. I knew you’d see sense.”

“But I can’t stay right now. I have to find Dwarven Darren,” said Bravetank.

“Oh I saw him earlier, wretching in an alley, swearing to give up the booze for life.”

“No that can’t be,” said Bravetank, “Who will Cob carry on his shoulders. I’m not going up there. He likes it too much in my opinion.”

So off she ran and found the alley where Dwarven Darren was on his knees wretching, body trembling, muttering, “Never again. Never again.”

“Take this Darren,” said Bravetank merrily, “Hair of the dog. Nothing like it.”

Before Darren could say a word she poured the ale down his throat.

Suddenly Cob appeared.

“Thank god there you are Darren. Climb up. My shoulders await.”

“Yesh I willsh,” slurred Darren happily, and on he climbed.

“A Merry Winterveil all,” cried Bravetank. “We have a future of guild runs, raids and loot wars to look forward to now for many a year to come. Then the guild will bitterly argue one day, split, reform, bitch about each other forever, and then reminisce in years to come about how good it all was. And all the while I’ll have material for my Bravetank blog. Can’t be bad! Can’t be bad!”

And Bravetank was better than her word. She did it all, and infinitely more. And to Dwarven Darren, who did NOT become a teetotal, and the rest she became as good a friend, as good a guild leader, and as good a tank  as the old city of Stormwind ever knew.

And it was always said of her she knew how to keep good tempered in a run no matter how bad the dps. May that be said of us all. And so, as Dwarven Darren observed, “God bless us, every one, but particularly Alchemist Andy!”

THE END

Bravetank’s Guide to…the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow

So many people are confused by the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow that I thought it would be useful to have a mini guide. The first thing that confuses people is how there can be a cult of a shadow that is actually forgotten. But this is simply a classic religious paradox – the sort that Augustine and Aquinas wrestled with in their day (while still putting out impressive DPS it should be noted). Actually at least one part of the name comes from a passive aggressive attack on the Church of the Holy Light. The cult wanted a word that was the opposite of Light and opted for “Shadow” because Aelthalyste (their banshee cult leader) forbade the use of the word “Dark” (it was a bitter reminder of her favourite treat when pre-menstrual-  dark chocolate – which she now refused to eat because Illius, one of the other leaders, once implied it was making her put on weight (his actual words to her were, “Do you want me to buy you another bar or have you had enough? – but she knew exactly what he meant).

Before we talk about the religion in more detail it’s worth pointing out that we  are talking here about the religion of the Forsaken- a faction of the Undead. This is a group of people who find it socially acceptable (indeed it is praised in their best-selling etiquette guide entitled “Don’t Forsake your Manners”) the act of falling to their hands and knees to chew up the remains of the dead without the use of a napkin. So it’s not going to be pretty.

This is a religion that was formed out of anger. Previously priests of the cult had been adherents of the Holy Light. They had believed that dead was dead – at least as far as the body was concerned – and only the soul lived on. To look in the mirror and see a shambling mass of muscle and sinew was to at first get excited and squeal “oooh look Madonna” and then to realise with a bitter blow that it was in fact yourself without even the compensation of her millions. Depression and anger soon followed.

There are three central tenets in the cult – Respect, Tenacity and Power  -  RTP – easily remembered by the saying Roll The Penguin- a past-time many Forsaken enjoy on a Bank Holiday (but against which the Penguin Society “We get Dizzy when we Roll” was formed).

“Respect” in Forsaken terms does not mean what one would normally think of as respect – honour to one’s parents (even when they’re talking loudly through your favourite programme),  humility before those of greater power (being nice to the boss even though he is so dense he thinks standard deviation is what you do when taking a longer route to avoid roadworks). No “respect” in cult terms is merely a greeting – one that shows the other to be a cult member (although the robes and badges are normally a dead giveaway). Any member of the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow must greet each other by saying “Respect” preferably with a “yo” prefacing it and nearly always ending with a cult member debate about which is the funniest – Ali G, Borat or Bruno and with at least one person informing the group that Sacha Baron Cohen “is married to Isla Fisher did you know” – a tedious statement that all greet with rolling eyes.

“Tenacity” again has a somewhat different meaning in the cult – it is a reference to Tenacious D which sums up everything that is abhorrent and vacuous in the world. By remembering this tenet cult members are prevented from bemoaning their fate and instead rejoice that they are no longer compelled to watch Jack Black repeatedly live out his delusions of being a rock star.

“Power” is the final tenet – this is quite simply a reference to The Power of Love – a moving Frankie Goes to Hollywood song that – despite their anger, hated and bitterness, still brings a tear to every Forsaken eye when they hold hands and sway and sing along to it (every Tuesday morning before torturing captive dwarves). Most are convinced Holly Johnson is simply a rather well fed member of the Undead.

The cult believes in Divine Humanism- i.e. that they themselves shape the universe. However, it is important to note that by universe they mean “The Universe” – a Forsaken comic book that they all work on every day. Indeed you will not find a member of the cult without a coloured pencil in his or her hand. They are incredible artists given the fact their fingers are hanging on by a mere thread.

There are Shadow Ascendants and Lightslayers in the cult. Shadow Ascendants are those that have mastered the art of casting their own shadow on a wall and then running up it – Donald O’Connor style. Lightslayers are simply those who have the responsibility of turning the lights out at bed time – an important role given the current price of electricity.

The goal of the cult is to conquer and transcend death . Or learn how to make the perfect hot chocolate. With marshmallows. It varies depending on the mood they are in.

The best way to join the cult is to first look undead (i.e. follow faithfully Madonna’s workout and diet plan), second publically destroy a copy of any Jack Black film (interestingly for Boy Scouts this is also the way to earn the highest public service award) and then thirdly perform the extended version of Frankie’s Relax complete with any actions you deem appropriate to illustrate the lyrics. Finally go along and and reassure Aelthalyste she could never be fat and that you like your banshees loud and cuddly. You’ll be promoted to priest before you know it.

I Quest therefore I Tank

The week off from questing seems to have done the trick. Went on this morning and after two failed attempts to escape Terokkar Forest (I thought I could level in SMV or Nagrand but too low level for either) I knuckled down and did most of the early quests  including warp stalker thingies (annoying), olemba seeds (curiously satisfying – perhaps I should be a gardener), worg tails (despair inducing drop rate), Arakkoa feathers (enough to stuff a pillow – lovely gift for Xmas for any Arrakoa hating relatives)  and a lesson in reading quest text when I looked everyhere for Ironjaw without realising he was a wolf  (explanation – I thought he was a basilisk -funny that – given all the bloody basilisks in the area are called Ironspine so logically I thought Ironjaw would be leader of the basilisks – and yes I know I should have read the quest text but how boring is that – I prefer to fly around for a good half hour piteously wailing to my husband that I can’t find him anywhere & rashly asserting the game is glitched).

Anyway Bravetank is finally level 63 – although that was slightly anti climactic since I thought she was 63 already (too lazy to cast my eyes up to the top left hand side of the screen to check her level it seems).

Still going down the questing rather than dungeon route at the moment and justifying this by the fact that the way I quest gives me good tanking experience. How you may wonder? Well I’ll tell you (and for free) – I basically play the part of all 5 group roles – including the bickering, annoying pulling and ninjaring. I start by running around like a lunatic gathering up as many mobs as I can before I’m ready (really like it if I have only half a health and mana bar) – far more than I should in fact – some mobs even give up when they see what I’m doing – refusing to play my little game. Then when I have a crazy number on my tail I spin around and with a cocky little  wink at my imaginary group I AoE everything to death while Word of Glorying myself back to full health whenever needed. It is awesome.!!!! I am tank, dps & healer all in one – like the perfect all in one cleanser, toner  & moisturiser. Not sure I was putting myself through all that group malarkey – my multiskilled paladin is group enough for anyone.

In reality of course I know I’m fooling myself and more to the point I have zero chance of getting any blue pretties this way. But husband’s healer is now lagging far behind me at only level 61 or so (I cannot tear him away from fishing -  can’t imagine Jesus saying this to his mother after trying to call the disciples can you?). So right now my choice is this pretend tanking questing or living up to my name and braving a group without him (but actually aside from being nervewracking this also feels a bit like a betrayal of him too- I broached the subject the other day and he had such a hurt look you’d swear I’d suggested an open marriage). I could of course stop playing Bravetank for awhile to help him catch up but at that rate I’ll be 85 before she is.

So on I’ll press for the minute and hope healer hubby catches up. In the meantime I perhaps should practice some PvP because I humiliated myself the other day when attacked by a shaman. His jumping skills were too much for me – I could not see where he was at any one point (not that I think the ability to jump and move should make you the automatic winner in a PvP battle – but I have to admit he also hit me a great deal too). So today when I ran into another horde player I was a tad fearful. This fear increased a hundredfold when I saw he was also a Pally. Luckily we Pallies have a mutual understanding and respect for each other (ie neither of us wanted a long battle of holy light & flash of light) and so we made dignified exits (ie ran away from each other quickly without once looking back).

Haven’t done any Winterveil festival quests yet. Partly because my husband keeps on telling me it’s dreadful because he keeps getting the same robot toy all the time and  apparently once you’ve had one there’s no point in having anymore and Blizzard know this so are are clearly sociopaths and why are they doing this to him, it’s personal, he’s going to write to his MP and blah de blah de blah. Personally I think he should perhaps concentrate more on levelling his healer than Winterfeil or otherwise an open tanking/healer relationship this is going to be.

Bravetank Bugle Number 2

More news from Azeroth – it’s been an incredible week. Please click the image to enlarge and read all about it!

Nihilistic Questing

Really struggled on WoW yesterday and for once this wasn’t because of a bad group or losing my way in a dungeon. It was because I felt a bit weary of it all. Really weary.

It started off fairly promisingly. I decided to log on yesterday afternoon after having quite a busy day. I’d done a bit of early morning Xmas shopping (in which I wore a very festive woollen hat  & felt like the star of a daytime made for TV Xmas movie). I managed to order husband a really cool present about which I can’t say anything on here obviously then went up the gym and did 5KM on the cross trainer (that on top of my 5 km on the rower the day before & my 10 km on the bike the day before that show I am a person in serious training for Xmas indulgence). So I was feeling all virtuous and ready to reward myself with for some gaming fun.

First disappointment -  I thought (because I don’t pay attention to anything around me unless it’s a gossip) that the WoW 7 year anniversary levelling boost would be (a) forever (b) available to all your characters. Yes I know. I’m stupid. My excuse is it offered increased levelling speed and that makes all sense of logic and reason escape me (as you know I do all but level backwards). So I logged on one of my least played characters  (for some reason the OCD gods demanded I log on each character in increasing importance and playtime culminating in Bravetank -the OCD gods make strange demands on me). So on came my level 8 hunter who still thinks Quest Helper is cutting edge. Nothing was in her mail box. Out of guilt I briefly considered playing her but as she’s a Blood Elf in Eversong Woods I found the idea of sawing off my toes far more appealing so I left her and made my way to the shed.

Only joking. I have not been to the shed since I signed the Treaty of No More Scares Please with the spider population of Wales – I don’t go there, they don’t come in the house. So instead I tried Androse my healer. Felt very guilty with her- she’s in her 50s and looked to have a promising career in the health profession until I got a touch of healing stage fright. Nothing in her mail box either. Refusing to look her in the eyes I logged her out and logged Bravetank on and saw the 7th anniversary icon thingy greyed out- can no longer be used. So that’s that. That vital 7% increase in levelling speed that was making such a difference is no more.

So I checked my quest log – I had an appointment in Terokkar Forest it seemed  since I had pretty much finished Zangarmarsh. Now I liked Terokkar Forest first time round with Terema. I’d been pretty shellshocked by Hellfire Peninisula (cried to go home through most of it) – all that fiery reddness, raging boars and terrifying Fel Reaver – well it was like some sort of …what would you call it …a peninsular – set in something like a raging hellfire. Who’d have thought it? Zangarmarsh was a relief after that but eventually one gets tired of mushrooms and annoying lifts. But Terokkar Forest had the touch of old Elwynn about it. I felt like I’d returned home and I remember thinking yes maybe maybe I can get to grips with Outlands. But yesterday. Oh my god. I’ve never felt such despair. It started when I saw the 7 or 8 yellow exclamation marks in Allerian Stronghold. Normally yellow exclamation marks fill me with joy. Yellow marks = quests= question marks= experience. Not as snappy a formula as anything Einstein came up with but you get the idea. But yesterday there just seemed so many of them. And more than that – it all seemed pointless.  I started to see stretching out ahead of me the repetitiveness of picking up the quest, going to kill ten of something or collect 20 of something by killing 30-40 (depending on drop rates) or speaking to X who’d tell me something interesting that I’d impatiently skip over because I’m so desperate to turn yellow exclamation marks into question marks and see my experience grow. And on and on it goes until my blue bar fills up, I ding, maybe get a talent point to spend or a spell to learn, maybe not, and then I take a breath and start again. I realised I really go nowhere in the game- the scenery and npcs change around me depending on which bit of computer code is being read, and my bunch of pixels stay in the same place effectively doing the same thing over and over again. And I enjoy that! Usually. In fact whenever I’ve been level capped and had no experience bar to fill I’ve become completely depressed. I like the bar- I want to make it grow and it seems I’m prepared to do it by doing the same thing over and over and over again. And when I get tired of that on one character I log in on an alt and do it again. But not yesterday. I just couldn’t do it.

I hope it was just a blip. I’ve always enjoyed computer games- the challenge of learning something (how to do this & that with a character), exploring and being impressed by cool graphics and atmospherics, helping my characters become more powerful. But yesterday I could not see a goal worth striving for. Yesterday it did not seem like a good use of my time. Yesterday it all seemed futile.

I did try. I went out and defended a tower (no one was around so I just stood there watching the bar move and thought how glad I was I’d been put on the earth to do this) & then I went to do that Private Weeks quest where you wear a disguise that disappears if you mount or fight (what kind of flimsy ass disguise is that?). A very frustrating quest. I could not find the third person I was meant to speak to and got discoverered roaming around the enemy camp for the hundreth time. What followed was the only highlight of my gaming afternoon – I got attacked by about ten mobs and in a Scarface like frenzy I took them all out. Nothing and nobody was too much for me. Bravetank had discovered her life had no purpose and so she became brilliantly fearless.

But when it was over and I took a look at the bodies strewn around me (alright I admit I looted them like the pro I am – even nihilists have armor repairs) – the sense of futility returned. With slumped shoulders (my own – Bravetank has amazing posture) I took her to Shattrath – picked up another three quests (clearly on automatic pilot ) and then plonked her down in a seedy part of the city – too lazy to find somewhere nice even though I always feel guilty when I log my characters out like that (won’t even log them out standing up – all I think of is how tired  their legs will be when I next log in).

So what a washout. Every single thing the game offered held no charm for me. That’s not like me at all. I hate it when that happens. And it doesn’t take long to go from pondering the pointlessness of the game to pondering the meaning of life itself. What it’s all for? You get up, work, eat, watch TV, play games, talk, worry, sleep. And the days go by, and the weeks, months and years. You look forward to those special moments – a nice meal, a good conversation, a warm bath and you feel lucky to have them when so many people don’t and so many people suffer, but the bigger question remains unanswered. What is it all for – the good and the bad? I feel like there’s some secret that’s just at the edge of my understanding. I can’t quite grab it. Or maybe I just don’t want to. Maybe it’s because I think the secret is it’s all for nothing, nothing will last, not even the love we sometimes say is the answer to everything, one of these days the breath I draw will be my last and that will be it. Gone. Is life about reaching out to others and not being alone, or is it about coming to terms with the fact you are nothing but alone in your own head, always have been and always will. Right to the very end until it’s game over.

Oh my god. Now I’m down. Really down. What I should do is log on and create a new character. That always gets me back into the game. And as long as I’m into the game then I’m busy and not thinking about the road I’m on  – a road that I’ll never see the end of because I’ll disappear before it does.

Azeroth Twitter

Amazingly managed to see a couple of screenshots of Deathwing’s Azeroth Twitter – the pages showing who he follows. A few surprises in there it has to be said!

Click here to see.

Hell’s Fairground

Confession time – I’m not enjoying Darkmoon Faire. Understatement of the year really. I think I hate it. It is a stark reminder to me of my laziness in this game – and no one likes those sorts of stark reminders.

It started off enjoyable enough. I followed the floaty arrows all the way down the road oohing and aahing at everything I saw. Like a compulsive shopper I found the armor sellers right away and did some online window shopping by hitting the ctrl key to see what Bravetank would look like if she had all that nice gear. I discovered gold and red are definitely her colours and I got all excited. And then I worked out (with some clever mental arithmetic – can’t see the kids doing that these days) how many tickets that would take and I started to cry – a lot. Why is getting such cool gear so hard? And when I say hard I don’t mean hard as in the “I’m going to climb Mount Everest on one foot” or “I am going to canoe down the rapids with my teeth” sort of hard – a challenging obstacle to be overcome- the sort that leaves you all puffed up and proud for days (or with broken teeth if you try the canoe thing). I mean hard as in pointless, tedious and frustrating.

I mean honestly in real life you go to a fair maybe what – once a year? You have a try on a couple of the stalls, win some crap, indulge yourself with some candyfloss or a burger and then go on some rides that seem way scarier now than when you were a child who believed in the security of nuts and bolts. That’s it. You do not obsessively explore every single inch of said fair (getting lost because every bloody area looks like the other) trying to find some insanely frustrating game to play that will take you four attempts before you get one measly ticket  (of which you need what feels like 4 million for half a balloon) & then find you can’t do that game again until the next day (not that you’d want to of course – by now your family are carefully escorting you from the fair as you gibber something about tokens and tickets and pretty gold things).  The more I think about it the more I think I’d rather stick my head in my fishtank and entertain the guppies with some opera than go to the fair again – any fair. It’s put me off them all.

I really dislike the games. That shooting one – there’s no real skill for that is there? You  just sort of twist your body around a bit I think. Mind you took me 20 attempts to get the required number of hits so I’m probably doing it all wrong. God forbid you stand too close or too far away though. The fair gods do not like that. But maybe the fair gods should look at why you’re having such difficulty standing at the exact right point. It’s because all & sundry with a flying mount are piled around the stalls. How lazy are they? In my day it was considered bad manners to stay on your horse when you talked to someone- even the milkman. And it was worse if you were on a flying horse since the wings tickled the milkman’s nose. Very bad form that was. Anyway I think the zone should be a compulsory dismount zone. In fact you should have those precious tickets taken off you if you even so much as think about clicking on your mount button.

Then there are the tonks. They brought out the bad side of me. I have never hurled such vile expressions at my computer before. There’s that moment when you think you’re going well, then you’re targeted and then without any ceremony the fair gods (again throwing their weight around like gods who have only one week a month to show off) eject you back outside. There’s no compromise, no negotiation – you would expect that from bouncers in a nightclub if you were acting a bit lary but not on a tonk, god no, not on a TONK.

Then the mole thing. I was quite good at that. I found the perfect position – got my protractor and ruler out, consulted my old maths text books – voila – I had about 5 barrels in my sight. I was very proud of this. I even learnt quite quickly that the dolls stun you. Only hit about three and I identified the pattern. Quick learner me. Now if only I could stop having an electric shock every time I get a sweet.

What else- oh yes tonk rubbish. I really really like working as a cleaner in my online game. Such a good way to switch off…. Of course it’s all so timeconsuming I have to ignore my real life cleaning to do it. I can only hope that my life is really a computer game & somewhere above me some sucker is just about to get busy doing all my cleaning to earn his little ticket. Honestly- I think that is really the secret of the universe. We’re all in a game being played by someone else. My life is in hard mode obviously but I think I might get a rocket launcher on my second time round.

Then there’s the cannon ball thing – fun but the run back is tedious. Where is the guy you can speak to who can teleport you back? Does he exist or is he a cruel joke by Blizzard to remind us who’s really the boss around here (they are-you know they are- look at what they’ve got you doing for a few measly tickets – circus animals are treated better).

That leaves I think breaded frog legs – fairly easy (even for one as inept as myself) & killing 250 creatures that give experience. Unfair advantage there to anyone who gets experience killing things in Elwynn Forest which is a portal away- bloody Level 5s – they think they rule the roost.

Today & yesterday I woke up fully intending to do all the dailies in the faire. My little eyes were lit up with the thought of all the pretty gold and red things. But this evening and yesterday evening I haven’t even logged on- I just can’t face it. And this is not me. I’m a firm believer that you have to work hard for what you want in life. But those games – they make me really weigh up how much I want gold and red pixels. I mean I could just open up photoshop and get them – in a row even. I will work hard at levelling because I love going up levels & gaining new spells & abilities etc. I will work hard in dungeons because I want to get better at playing my character and want the group to love me. And there just is something hugely satisfying about performing well, completing quests, killing bosses. But I cannot find that same enjoyment at the faire. The ticket reward should be greater given the tedium of the games – it’s the only thing that would work for me. Just as I would not spend hours in a fair trying to throw a hoop over a cuddy toy so I will not spend days each month throwing a hoop over a tortoise. I just won’t. I have my pride. I’d rather kill spore bats instead.

So I will leave the faire and go back to Zangarmarsh and continue my charity work there trying to help the Cenarion Expedition reverse the devastation of the land. I mean- that’s got to be more important than playing around in a faire anyway. I’m an ecological warrior really -  a hero. And no I’m not just a player too lazy to farm tickets for what I really wants. After all gold and red are so last season.