Baron Trendel strolled across the compound at a leisurely pace, his hands clenched behind his back, as he headed towards the first of his mornings’ visits. Each day, after breaking his fast and completing the usual exercise, cleaning duties and prayers, he made a point of visiting each training station to speak with the instructors and see how the current crop of Border Guard advanced students were withstanding the course. It was one thing to expect the various experienced Captains, Lieutenants, and Sergeants of the Border Guard to successfully complete the initial training Baron Trendel had driven them through, but it was quite another for a man fresh off a potato field or a masonry crew and only in uniform a few months or more. Even though these first true trainees were all supposed to be veterans of at least a year or more in the Border Guard, a year is a little enough thing when balanced against a lifetime as a professional soldier, such as the more senior men of the Guard had had under their belts for their time through the Grinder.

Still, Baron Trendel had as yet found little cause for complaint amongst the men. Even as he approached the first training station, where men strengthened their fighting arms by repeatedly attacking stout ironwood posts with heavy solid iron bars, he was reminded how different some of the men who volunteered for the Border Guards tended to be.

As Baron Trendel stopped beside the primary instructor for the pole practice, he watched the current crop of trainees as he spoke to the man beside him. “Good morning, Sergeant Willikens. I see the post for position three is looking a little worn again.”

The instructor glanced once at the man that had come up beside him, shifted the plug of tobacco he was chewing from one cheek to the other, spat a thick brown stream of juice at a small tan lizard that had chosen that moment to cross the hot sands between the Sergeant and Trendel, missing it by a wide margin, and then turned his attention back to the straining men swinging their bars at the posts. From the corner of his mouth, he spoke while keeping his body turned towards the men. “Aye, sir, I’d have to say it’ll have to be replaced either tonight or tomorrow. Give us a good excuse for a log run around the compound, not that we really need one. An excuse, that is.”

The Sergeant sounded like he was looking forward to putting the men through the log run. Baron Trendel had to restrain a smile as he remembered the results of the Sergeants’ first log run during the instructor training sessions. The sight of five senior men unused to working as a team doing menial labor, running around the compound carrying a trimmed fir log on their shoulders as they ran, each lead man peeling away from the group only to fall in again at the rear while at a run, and the many times the log fell to the ground accompanied by savage swearing and cursing was perhaps only funny to the watcher. And after you’d been through it enough times, you did tend to look forward to someone else getting the short end for a change. Still, the drill did its trick, although Baron Trendel often wondered whether its main purpose was to help build teamwork, or to ensure the men truly hated the instructor. A sudden thought struck him, and the urge to grin suddenly became hard to restrain.

“Well Sergeant, if one post needs to be replaced, then I’m sure they all do. And it wouldn’t do for only one team to enjoy the pleasures of a log run. Let’s see to it that everyone has their turn. Perhaps as a race?”

The Sergeant showed admirable poise for a moment, keeping his face utterly impassive, but he couldn’t control an involuntary swallow that sent a good amount of tobacco juice coursing down his gullet. He tried like hell to hold it, but doubled up coughing hoarsely, and spitting for all he was worth. The tobacco plug came out to fall in the sand, and Baron Trendel had to marvel that nothing else came up with it.

Straightening up, the Sergeant got a hold of himself and calmed back down. With a remarkable lack of glee, he replied “Well sir, that’s a mighty fine idea, but if we make them all do a log run when just the one post gets too beat up, won’t they all ease up on the work to save themselves the pain next time?”

Baron Trendel was already one jump ahead. “That would probably be the case, Sergeant, except that we’ll use more carrot than stick. Since the men typically aren’t good for much physically after a normal log run, why don’t we schedule the run for the morning, and make it a true race. The winning team gets liberty this weekend up at the Caer, so long as they stay together as a unit in the fortress, and after the race itself we’ll have a large outdoor cookout with roasts and a hog, and spend the rest of the day doing outdoor classroom work, instructing the men in theory and tactics, and give them a chance to heal up a bit.”

Sergeant Willikens seemed about ready to go along with the idea, but Trendel could see he was working it around the way a real field sergeant should, looking for the holes the men would surely find. The sergeant pulled out a doeskin tobacco pouch and got another good-sized plug going before he brought up his next point. “Well sir, I agree with you that a prize like that would certainly motivate the men to make a good run out of it, and if the plan is to do this every time the posts get too worn, then I’ll bet you’ll be seeing a hell of a lot more effort with them swinging them bars, too. But I have to wonder at the wisdom of setting a whole team of these fire-pissers loose in the big city for a whole weekend. The lot of ‘em ain’t got the sense Tyr gave an armadillo, and giving them an order to stick together has as much chance of actually working as a full whiskey jug has of making it from one end of the barracks to the other unopened.”

Both men stood silently for a moment out of respect as they continued to watch the cause of post three’s need for replacement. Curling Bryant, a huge man so covered with thick wiry hair that he seemed more bear than man, and arms easily as big around as a good sized tree trunk, swung his iron bar with deceptively slow-looking, cross-body strikes at the post. The entire post bent back from the force of each blow a good two feet before snapping back into place, and wood chips flew across the sand. The impact was so brutal that the shockwave felt like a physical slap across the face to the two men watching, and yet each time the massive hairy giant of a man just drew the bar back over his shoulder, and swung it around again, with no sign that he felt the impact or the shivering of the bar held in his ham-sized grip.

Baron Trendel replied to Sergeant Willikens’ latest verbal lunge with the killing thrust. “You’re absolutely right, Sergeant. Expecting the men to stick together as a team this early in their training is unrealistic. That’s why we’ll need each team’s primary instructor to run the log race with them. That way the instructor can earn the right to ride herd on his team during the liberty. You do still have primary command of 3rd Squad, don’t you?”

As Sergeant Willikens doubled up again in another sudden coughing fit, this time with the green of panic rising in his face, Trendel noticed a thin young man in the scarlet and yellow trimmed livery of Duke Arneghast trotting across the sand in his direction.

Baron Trendel called out to Sergeant Willikens over his shoulder as he went to meet the page halfway. “Carry on, Sergeant. You might want to get that cough looked at. Nasty sounding thing.”

The lad trotted right up to Trendel, clearly having sought out the tabard of dark blue with the gold trim and golden sunburst upon the breast that marked a Knight of the Order of Radiance. Still, no sense making unwarranted assumptions. “Are you looking for me, son?”

The young page stopped in front of Trendel, and drawing a huge breath, asked all in one go, “Do I have the honor of addressing Baron the Lord Terin Trendel, Knight of the Order of Radiance, Commandant of Doneghals’ Border Guard and Scout Academy?”

“Yes boy, you do indeed. Do you have something to tell me?”

The young boy, surely no more than 15 or 16 years old, shook his head no, as he reached into a deep leather shoulder bag with his left hand and drew out a thick parchment scroll, tightly wrapped with a yellow and red striped ribbon. “No, my lord, I’ve instead been instructed by my master to ask you to hold out the hand that bears the Signet of Mosley Vale, and to touch this scroll to the displayed ring.”

Just wanted to say hi.

Hey, blogging is fun! I could get used to this!

I wonder what this thingie does….

Oooh, the backend code is neat, too!

Bye now!

This is, I have to say, is one of the coolest things I’ve seen… and it’s on my server!

Cassie mentioned it to me, I’ve been oblivious lately to general chat… but I am so taking part tonight!

Remember that whole ‘Isle of Quel’danas’ thing we were so excited about way back when? Tons of new daily quests? A new instance? A new raid area? A new badge vendor?

Pretty cool, right?

All the servers scrambled to be the first to do tons of daily quests, as each new stage of content in the Isle of Quel’danas had to be unlocked by server participation.

And what happened?

As soon as the new Badge of Honor reward vendor got unlocked, everyone stopped caring.

Well, a couple stages or so AFTER the Badge lady is the gem vendor recipe lady… she has a quest for you to do. It’s a damn cool quest, I loved it.

You get asked to go retrieve some stuff from the high plateau of southwest Hellfire Peninsula.

The catch is, what you gotta retrieve is buried… and it requires a sensitive sniffer to figure out where the tender roots you want are located.

It’s a damn truffle hunt!

You have to fly up to that plateau… you get to tame a Ravager as your pet! Just like hunters get pets! You get him as a combat pet to send out to whack stuff, the whole thing. Very fun! C’mon, isn’t that reason enough to go?

And one of the Ravager’s special abilities is to sniff out these tender truffles… I mean roots… and then you scavenge the suckas and return to the Isle of Quel’danas and turn them in.

And if you do this quest enough on your server, the gem recipe vendor lady will… have gem recipes to sell. Epic gem recipes. NICE epic gem cutting recipes.

Windburn is, of course, a maxed out Jewelcrafter with many rare recipes, such as Solid Star of Elune and Runed Living Ruby. I wants those Epic recipes.

But… I checked last night, vendor is still at 95%. It’s heartbreaking!

And I mention this to my wife, and she tells me that one of the best guilds Alliance side on Kael’thas, as far as friendliness and progression are concerned, Vendetta, has gotten sick of it too.

And they are taking action!

Check out this post on the Official WoW Kael’thas realm forums made by Showtyme of Vendetta;

In an attempt to hasten the arrival of the gem-vendor, Vendetta will be holding a quest lottery. The rules are simple. A member of the team will be in Shattrath ready to share the quest “discovering your roots”. More team members will be at Razorthorn Rise clearing out mobs and uncovering roots for you. Simply pick up the roots you see on the ground and fly back to shat and port to Quel’Danas. Turn in the quest. A final member of the team will be at the quest turn ready to port you back to Shattrath where the original team member will be waiting for you. In exchange for doing this we will give you 3g and put your name on a spreadsheet. You can do this as many times as you have toons per day until the vendor opens. Every time you do it on a main or alt you receive another chance to win the grand prize, which is a ZA Bear mount!!!!So its a win for you and the whole server, you get 3g per day per toon that does the quest and each time you do it your name is added into the pool. Once the vendor reaches 100% the event will be complete and the lottery will be held. The winner will be notified in-game via mail and there name will be posted in this thread. The bear run will then be set up for a time convenient for the winner and the server can finally get the gems they need!!

Any questions contact Showtyme in game. The offer will start Wednesday the 25th at noon server time. in front of the portal to Quel’Danas. Good luck!

Now that’s hardcore awesome…

I love the idea of working together like that. And would I love a bear mount? Sure!

But I am going to participate in this on all three 70s I have, NOT in desperate hopes of a bear mount, I have the awesome birdie mount from Heroic Sethekk halls to love. Okay, if I won Windshadow the Bear tank WOULD be riding a warbear. It is mandatory. Sorry, I slipped into some bear-on-bear daydreaming there. My bad.

But no, I’m going to take part each day because this is just an awesome attempt by a guild of great folks to get some hustle going! Get that damn gem lady in bizness!

If you’re on Kael’thas, and you’ve been blowing off the quest… please go out there and get some move on!

A Clear Headed Approach

Jessie reached down with her off hand to grab her belongings, the big pile of gear she had lugged along so far, keeping her weapon firmly gripped before her, as Launa’s eyes changed from the cloudy green of a scummy pond to a flat reptilian black. Her face became suffused with bulging green veins as she clearly lost her temper for real at the new challenge. Jessie kept most of her attention firmly on the surrounding trees, grass and vines, and was almost instantly rewarded by noticing the branches overhead were busy weaving nooses and lassos out of thick corded vines and creepers. She just had time to wonder how branches could move like that without muscles or tendons before Far Dreamer took the decision on what to do next out of her hands.

As the tree branches around the clearing whipped violently, casting dozens of long woven nooses towards the extremities of the two women, Far Dreamer opened her mouth wide, her jaw dropping down further than Jessie thought it possible to go, in what was clearly meant to be a shout of epic proportions. Instead of noise, however, a great gout of fire vomited forth, jetting clear across the clearing and drenching the shocked dryad in liquid fire.

Almost at once the nearby branches began gyrating spastically, as the formerly young and beautiful dryad went up like an oil soaked torch. The lengths of vines woven into nooses crisscrossed the clearing, draping over both Far Dreamer and Jessie, but none of them were being held or controlled any more, and were easy to cast aside. Far Dreamer and Jessie both backed away from the heat radiating off the thing rolling around in the center of the clearing, watching as it’s spasms slowly subsided, but their attention was suddenly torn away from the dying dryad as the massive tree with the hollow trunk that had served Launa as a home suddenly shook violently, and in a gout of earth and mud uprooted itself from the ground.

Far Dreamer turned to look at Jessie with a curiously calm expression, as if things like this were a common part of her life, and asked “Did you know Dryads aren’t really alive? They’re more like a cutting from the main plant. They don’t really have a life apart from their tree. And for the tree, it is as if a small piece of their soul has gone exploring outside of the body, but is still very much a part of the tree at all times.”

Jessie replied, “No, I didn’t know that. But if you mean you just pissed off that tree, I’m out of here.”

Far Dreamer looked from Jessie to the tree, and back again, and said “I know you’ve already done a lot for me, but I can’t go very far without my clothes. They’re a part of my soul magic, and I can tell they’re inside of that thing. Look, I see you’ve got Single-Blows’ axe and my sword there in your bundle. That axe has a lot of power tied up in it, it’s a relic left over from the god wars that should have been destroyed long ago. I don’t have time to teach you many of the command words, but it’ll cut through natural wood, even wood like this, like clotted cream. If you’ll hand me my sword and deal with the branches and roots when the thing reaches us, I’ll hold it steady and work on its’ heart.”

Jessie looked from Far Dreamer to the huge uprooted tree, and back again. No matter how angry the tree might have been, it wasn’t the fastest horse in the chase on its best day. And once it had uprooted itself, the other trees in the area quieted right down. Jessie looked around, and repeated the thought to herself aloud.

“They must communicate through the roots, look, the other trees are all asleep.”

Far Dreamer glanced around the clearing at the still trees, and then once more down towards the now still and charred form of the dryad. Charcoal and ash coated the still form, and glowing embers flared red as a stiff breeze wound across the green grass. The stench of burnt wet wood and a hint of charred flesh was carried away from the two on the wind, but the scent still lingered in Jessies’ nose.
 
Far Dreamer says in a sad voice, “I’m of the opinion that whether you stay or go might not matter after all, young human. Whatever poison Launa packed my wound with is coursing strong through my veins. I am keeping my feet, but I’ll not have the strength to run or fight much longer.”

Far Dreamer turns and looks directly in Jessies’ eyes as she continues, “I give you thanks for doing what you could to aid me. I can read the signs that you are not in a strong position yourself, and from your earlier questions of Launa, I could hear great pain and sorrow for your people carried in your voice. You must be one of the survivors of the Orcs’ earlier raid on the Stronghold. I grieve for your pain, and for your loss.”

Far Dreamer settles a little, and smiles wistfully at the sky. “I had almost made it to the cliff wall. There is a path there, little more than a series of hand holds that lead upwards to a fissure that leads deeper inside, deeper into Kelgardelac Strung, into the mountain you call Torr Baldwin. Perhaps I was mad to think that I could stop this craziness all by myself. It’s hard to remember sometimes that my original mission had nothing to do with the Orc war on your people. I was merely sent to find the Hall and ascertain its condition. That seems like such a long ago time, now.”

Far Dreamer looks directly towards Jessie, and her determination and willpower seem to slam into focus. “Leave me my sword. I’ll stand here and occupy the oak as long as I can. Take the axe and head for the cliff wall. Travel south about two leagues, and watch for a crude sign painted upon the white chalk in the color of blood, in the form of a deer head with thorny horns. The first handhold leading up will be there. If you want revenge for yourself and your people, climb up to the fissure and stand guard. Soon the Clans will make their pilgrimage to the Hall, to send their Chiefs, Heroes and Shamans through to be ‘elevated’ by the spirits and made Holy. If you wait long enough, you will have the chance to kill the best and brightest leaders and advisors among the Orc Clans on this side of the spine wall. I would have preferred to change the nature of the Hall to bring peace and understanding to the Clans, rather than the rage Launa has designed, but this senseless slaughter must stop, one way or the other.”

Far Dreamer takes her blade, and assumes a guard position as the huge Oak lumbers ever nearer. The very tip of the blade quivers as though her nerves are a little unsteady.

“The axe is very powerful, and using it for too long will have a terrible cost on your dreams, and may even lead to waking nightmares, but there are two command words your tongue might be able to master that will help you greatly to achieve your goal. Do not speak them aloud while holding or wearing the axe until you are ready, but repeat them in your mind until you think you have the inflection right. If you’re lucky, you’ll get it right, and if you’re not, and you need the power of the axe that desperately, it’s probably not going to be a long term problem.”

“First, the axe will drink deeply of the blood and soul of anyone that it wounds. It will grow ever stronger in this way, but it is not designed or meant to harness the lifeforce it collects permanently. The extra power will tend to dissipate slowly, and return to Gaia over time. But, so long as the axe is suffused with this extra lifeforce or mana, it will be far more devastating to your opponents, and you as a pure mortal can draw some of that power from the axe into yourself to heal your wounds and bring you renewed energy and vitality. Be careful, however, for the axe is a very raw and primal tool, linked directly to Gaia. The lifeforce it draws from the souls it takes will still be pure, imbued with the essence of the person the axe had wounded. You may be assaulted by visions and emotions the person had lately experienced. If you draw too strongly upon this power from one being, or if the person was exceptionally supernatural in nature, you may even be overwhelmed by the person’s spirit. To trigger the spells that draw the lifeforce from the axe into you, hold the axe tightly in both hands and intone the command, ‘Khaladhakathan’.”

“Second, you can unleash all of the stored mana at once when the blade makes contact with a living being. The command must be made before the blow is to be struck, and once the command is uttered, all of the stored mana will be focused into the blade edge. The axe will be hard to hold onto, it will shiver as if it were straining at the leash. It cannot be made safe once it has been triggered, and it will unleash all of its energy in the first living being to touch the blade. The command to trigger this is ‘Dhalakhaladan’.”

“I hope that you are not called upon to use the axe in this way, but at least I have done all I can to aid you in your journey. Now go, child, and be well in your life.” 

Jessie stands there for a moment, obviously weighing her decision, but she quickly stands fast beside the elf clutching the axe, and asks, “Is there any way we have a realistic chance of stopping this thing if we work together?”

Far Dreamer looks over at Jessie, and hesitates for just a second before replying, “Yes, there is, if you have the skill to fight, and the wisdom to act with a clear head rather than with fury and rage. An oak of this many years has only a few vulnerable areas we can reach, and if you go charging in like most human males I’ve seen, we’ll both die rather messily.”

Jessie looks down at the axe clutched in her hands with a dubious expression. “I’m afraid Fergus never taught me how to use an axe, I’m much more comfortable with a sword. But I’ll do my best. You tell me where you need to stick the damn thing and I’ll do my best to get it to open up for you.”

She looks at Far Dreamer, and grins. “Would this qualify as one of those desperate times you just mentioned?”

Far Dreamer grins back, and says, “If you’re stupid enough to stay, then I’m stupid enough to fight with you while that abomination that looks like an axe cuts loose. Just try not to hit me with it, all right? I want my soul to last long enough to sneer at our foolishness if we fail.”

Far Dreamer points towards the massive oak trunk, and says, “You see that gnarled knot sticking out of the side of the cavity? That’s some kind of sensory organ. It should be tied directly into the things’ version of nerves. If you nail that thing with all of your strength, the oak will certainly feel it. How much, I don’t know, but if we’re lucky, the cavity will open enough for me to get inside. I assure you, I may not live for long inside it, but neither will the oak, and it’s my best chance of getting my gear. If I do get inside, keep it occupied by hitting every protrusion you can, and stay out of reach of it’s branches, they’ll pierce your clothes as if you were naked.”

“Good Luck!”

Jessie shifts her grip on the axe handle, flexing her muscles against its massive weight. Tossing the rest of her gear towards the roots of the quiescent tree behind her, she swings the axe a few times, trying to find the perfect mix of balance and power.

Talking to herself under her breath as she moves, she hears Fergus’ voice in her head, saying, “Ok, Jessie me girl, this ain’t too different from splitting firewood at home. O’course firewood is generally a bit more cooperative, like lyin’ still, and not doing it’s best to kill you. Stay steady, and find yer place o’ peace.  And remember. It’s slow as spring after a Fell Orc winter.”

Far Dreamer suddenly gasps out loud in pain, and as Jessie whips her head away from the advancing tree, she sees Far Dreamer writhing in pain as the dress of green leaves contorts about her body. Although Far Dreamer remained on her feet, her sword was held in one restrained hand, positioned out of line to help cut the mass of leaves away.

Jessie went to run to Far Dreamers side to help fight the leaves, but then hesitated, looking back towards the advancing oak tree. It’s branches bristled menacingly, and Jessie couldn’t tell whether she’d have time to clear away the leaves before the tree arrived. I’d be a near thing no matter what she chose. Would it be better to take on the tree by herself, or to help Far Dreamer first, and maybe be unprepared at the last moment?

Jessie runs hurriedly over to Far Dreamer, and while holding the axe in her left hand, tugs on the writhing leaves, trying to see if they are all connected to one branch or vine, or if they are all individual pieces. Turning the elf around, Jessie is rewarded by seeing that, running up Far Dreamers’ back, a single thick vine, slightly darker than the leaves, seems to have small taproots stretching out like hoops around Far Dreamers body.

Gripping the thick vine tightly with her right hand, Jessie leans forward and yells into the struggling elf’s ear, “If you don’t stop struggling, I’m liable to be giving you more than a poisoned shoulder to be worrying about. I’ve got a big damn axe and no time to switch weapons, and I’m gonna be cutting this damn thing off near your spine!”

Far Dreamer stills immediately, standing stiff as a plank. The leaves and vines, sensing their victim’s stillness, squeeze even harder, just as Jessie carefully runs the edge of the axe blade along the thick vine. The green flesh of the vine smokes as the blade touches it, and reacts violently, springing loose of the elfs’ body and flinging itself away from Jessie, Far Dreamer and the axe, moving disquietingly like a spider as it scuttles away, all vines and leaves.

Jessie feels sick in sympathy for Far Dreamer, who’d actually had the thing touching her.

With the reflexes that make her so dangerous, Jessie snaps the axe over head with both hands, like a logger splitting wood, and brings the axe down through the center of the thick vine before it could scuttle out of reach.

The mass of leaves explodes into brief flame and nauseous green smoke, far different from the flames that had consumed the dryad, before collapsing into dust. At the same time, the axe felt both lighter and emotionally heavier in Jessie’s hands, exerting a psychic presence that instantly started to give Jessie a headache, and the axe head began to glow a metallic green color, while the massive oak tree halted in its advance, and let loose with a scream that had nothing of sound in it, a scream that Jessie could feel like a knife in her forehead, twisting.

As she turned to face the screaming tree, leaves flying apart from the branches as they flail at the sky, she feels the weight of her grief burning in her eyes. The rage and the grief pull a harsh growl from her throat as she hefts the glowing axe, and readies a good solid grip.

“That sounded like it hurt really bad…good, I have a lot more pain for you right here.”

Glancing towards Far Dreamer, who has composed herself and stands naked holding her sword, Jessie asks, “Are you ready to finish this?”

Jessie takes a second hard look at Far Dreamer, as she sees her for the first time without any concealing clothing. The horrible wound in her left shoulder has completely closed, but the flesh underneath, as well as the skin around it, had turned a virulent shade of green, with pulsing veins a darker color of green, instead of the red that Jessie would have expected from the blood the previous night. Jessie made the instant connection with the leafy pattern that had been on everything else the dryad had touched.

Jessie decided that, without knowing more, the best hope was that, if the oak died, maybe the poison would die with it.

What drew Jessie’s attention more than the wound, however, was the glittering gold markings completely covering the elf’s right leg, from ankle to hip. Jessie had seen a glimpse of it before, but it was boldly apparent now, glittering a brilliant gold, a beautiful tattoo showing what seemed to be a snakelike scaled dragon with a long, winding, serpentine body. The style was something she had never seen before, an art that looked far more involved and difficult to create than the simple, crude tattoos she had seen on some of the more widely traveled guards that traveled with the infrequent caravans that visited her family’s Caer. This was a masterpiece that seemed to have so much depth and detail that it almost seemed alive.

Jessie snapped out of her distraction, and focused her eyes back on the elves’ face.

The elf, replying to Jessies’ last words, says, “Yes, as ready as I have any hope of being.”

Jessie asks, “So, dragon lady, can you breathe fire at the oak again, or are you tapped out?”

Far Dreamer seems shocked for a moment, glances down at her now naked body quickly, and then looks back up, her cheeks burning. “No, I can’t, and I’ll thank you to be casting your gaze to the oak, young man!”

Jessie blushes a bright red, shocked at herself for feeling embarrassed after all that had happened during the last two days, and turns her attention fully upon the tree. Jessie and Far Dreamer step out as one, advancing to meet it in the bright glade. The massive tree is far from motionless, as it’s branches writhe in torment, but Jessie felt that, for the moment at least, the oak was ignorant of their actions, but Jessie was too cautious to trust in its seeming distraction.

As Far Dreamer got settled into an awkward looking pose, partially crouched with her sword gripped with both hands, Jessie advanced towards the side of the tree that brought her closest to the knot that Far Dreamer had suggested as her first target, weaving and dodging to stay clear of the branches and roots that were thrashing about.

Setting herself, Jessie leapt towards the knot, swinging the axe as hard as possible, and called out, “Dhalakhaladan!” swinging the massive axe in a sweeping arc, swinging, swinging….

Jessie heard Far Dreamer scream out, “No!” from behind her, but it was far too late. Jessie was committed to the swing, and brought the bit of the axe into and through the knot, burying three feet of the axe’s length into the tree.

Jessie had felt no difference in the axe as she called out the name she had hoped she’d got right, but when the axe struck the tree, a flash of light erupted from the contact, and at the same moment she felt a consuming weakness spread throughout her body, starting from her hands and sweeping swiftly through her heart. It felt horribly as if her life and her very soul were flowing out of her body into the axe, through her hands, and as the weakness and confusion closed over her mind, she collapsed into an all consuming darkness and for the time, knew no more.

I’ve had people say for months that there were problems with the Contact Form, and I have no idea why… it seems like 100 people get it to work fine one day, and then the very next morning I see at least three comments from people who say it wouldn’t work for them.

I have no idea how many people might have tried contacting me, had it fail, and just gave up, and I don’t know what’s wrong with the plugin, so I updated the Contact page with an email address. I’ll leave that up until someone that knows what the heck they’re doing can look at the Contact Form code.

I like the Contact Form, because when I get the email, I can see from the formatting it’s from the blog and it makes it past my spam filters 100% of the time.

Anyway, so there is that.

The other thing is, I just wanted to say that when I went to bed last night, I had some serious doubts as to whether or not I was coming back today.

This blogging has always been, to me, about having fun chatting with friends, and sharing things with friends that I think are cool in WoW.

When I started the blog, it grew out of posting long rants and stuff in a small Yahoo group of just my few friends in our WoW guild, and it grew from there into a blog that was still just the same people, and maybe a handful more that BRK sent to me because he mentioned me once a long time ago.

As things have grown and changed, intellectually I’ve known that more people have been reading, but emotionally, I’ve always felt that my audience, the folks that visit here, are just part of my circle of friends.

That’s why I share everything that I do about what’s going on in my life. It’s why I post some of the things that, in hindsight, readers of a ‘feral druid blog’ probably think are just… stupid, and a waste of your time.

I see a funny WoW related vid, and think “Oooh I bet my friends would get a kick out of that.”

I shared my PBeM game that Manny and James and I have been playing in the same spirit of wanting to share something I’m proud of with my friends.

Even writing for WoW Insider… I was incredibly surprised to be asked to do that. And I have written very differently over there, because I do not feel my audience over there is made up solely of friends, I feel it is made up of mostly serious players looking for advice, tips and strategies. So I write serious Druid stuff for the most part, and I take making my articles valuable to the Druid community seriously when I write for them.

But it still felt like, the players that read over there are more the ‘norm’ of strangers looking for tips, and that when I come back here to blog, it’s back to chatting with friends. I think my biggest mistake there was putting a link to my blog in the articles.

The events of the last few days, the teeny bit of stuff in the public comments and the deluge of SHIT on my email, has brought that house of cards crashing down.

I no longer feel like I’m just chatting with friends. After some of the shit I’ve read in my email, I’m sorry, but emotionally… it’s a bunch of faceless strangers staring at me and judging me and my life. 

TJ has chatted with me in the past, and she’s tried to beat into me this thing about how big I am in blogging for WoW, and that I must be doing this for fame or I wouldn’t be doing it in the first place, and I never understood what she was saying. I just didn’t get it. I’m chatting with friends, I was doing it when there were 3 other people reading it, nothing has changed since then except I’ve got more friends now. Who gives a shit about being famous? What am I, Britney Spears? I don’t THINK so, thank you very much.

But… now I see what she meant. If I’m not doing all this for fame, then what reasonable person puts themselves out there like this in front of total strangers that have no problem ripping you apart in a personal manner, in the foulest of language, in personal emails, apparently trying to ‘win’ the internet.

So… I don’t know.

I do know that I went to bed last night pretty much thinking that I was done. This morning, I saw that I had a bunch of smart advice and nice words from folks that I do think of as friends posted about the MgT run, and that plus a couple of emails from other WoW friends just saying ‘hi’ helped remind me that everyone I like is still here… it’s just that there are a bunch of OTHER folks here too. 

I need to remember that I’m not just chatting with friends, put that knowledge in a compartment, and then forget it. My friends are what it’s about, and screw the rest of the people that have nothing better to do with their lives than… screw it. They’re not worth my time.

Please bear with me a bit, because it’s gonna take me a while to regain my sense of humor about this. 

I’m thinking of it like this… where before, I felt like I invited some friends over to my house, and we were all hanging out and chatting in the comfort of the living room… now, I feel like I went out to a bar, and invited a bunch of friends over, and we’re sitting there having a few pints and chatting and having a great time… but the bar is crowded, and there are plenty of people standing around our table, just standing and wathcing, close enough to overhear, and bored. And listening to us is a good way to pass the time as they have a few drinks.

And they’re not really our friends, and they don’t really give a shit… but if they hear something someone says they disagree with, they’ll sure as hell make sure we know it.

It’s not that big a deal… I just gotta remember that I don’t give a shit what the strangers think… it’s all about what my FRIENDS think.

Yeah, if I was as emo now as I was in High school, I’d pull out the Violent Femmes and spin “Good Feeling”. Oh, boo hoo.

As it is… I’ma gonna go play. Damn it, it’s late enough in the morning that I bet the good easy farming of ore is gone! Crap!

My friends, thank you for being you, and I am grateful that you made for me this imaginary little dream world where I thought everyone in the entire world that I knew was cool… whether you ever commented or hung out and had fun, you each know who you are, you are what has made this so much fun for the last year, and each and every one of you rocks. Thank you for being awesome.