Spot: Saved!

I’d forgotten how brilliant Silverpine Forest and Hillsbrad were since they revamped the zones. Tansy seemed to zoom to level 35. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to save Spot at bang on level 35 but thought it was worth a try. As it happened, the answer was yes, level 35 is high enough to breach the wall of Theramore and to tame him.

As it turned out, this corner of the keep has no guards anywhere near and also did a good job of keeping my dognapping (sorry saving) from the eyes of passing Alliance.

Although even when I ventured out into the open, no one seemed at all taken aback by a small Goblin riding off with Spot. No wonder Theramore got destroyed given how lax about security they seemed to be.

Now to level to 110 for the Class Hall and to kill those Alliance peasants who failed to keep Spot (and Theramore) safe in PvP.

Operation Save Spot

Ever since Theramore was blown to dust and purple ash, I’ve wanted to make a Horde Hunter to save Spot from the flames.  Over the years, I’ve made a couple but they haven’t made it to level 35 required to tame Spot and got abandoned on no longer touched servers. This time though, I’m committing. Spot is being tamed.

I hadn’t played through the Goblin start zone since it was first unveiled so decided to  make a Goblin plus having already abandoned a Troll Hunter and an Undead one I thought something new might motivate me. It took less than five minutes to remember why I hadn’t played a Goblin since that first run through. I am quite partial to the zebra prints and the neon lights but the rest of it felt too much like I was playing another game entirely.

However, she’s now level 16 and counting, in Silverpine making money doing unmentionable and down right dubious things for the Forsaken. Hang on Spot… Tansy is coming!

Every Cloud has a Silver Lining

I’m a creature of habit. My first Onyxia kills took place in vanilla, before flying mounts entered the game. As my then Guild tag acted as a sort of red rag to a Tauren (Orc, Troll and Undead too), we used to meet in Theramore and then either ride through the Marsh or make our way across the water slowly.

Now whenever the urge to kill her crosses my mind, I still go to Theramore before flying off to her lair.

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Things have changed somewhat since we used to gather, chatting by the main gate. An army of 40 players all in our glistening armour, looking more unified than we ever were (actually it was more like 38 because every raid had at least two players who needed summoning from somewhere…normally Gnomes). There is however still a beauty to be found amongst the ruined stone and gaping crater. I know it’s only a video game and yet, I can’t shake that feeling I have of loss whenever my character stands by what used to be the Theramore Tower.

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This story however has a happier ending. Much to my surprise, wrapped up in the usual Onyxia loot (Hunter/Druid…somethings never change), I discovered a mount. For once those fickle Gods of RNG smiled on me.

#IntPiPoMo 2014 – Theramore before and afterwards

Once again November has rolled around bringing with it IntPiPoMo which was originally started by Angelya of Revive & Rejuventate but is now hosted by Jojo of Admiring Azeroth. The idea behind IntPiPoMo is to post fifty screenshots/pictures across the month with no set themes or rigid rules however given that we are a week away from the latest Warcraft expansion, I suspect the vast majority of mine will be WoW related.

Theramore 

Before.. there were tradespeople bustling around and guards watching, their hands brushing their sword hilts.

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Before.. there were buildings, white stone tamed into Inns and Keeps. Wood carved into lintels and doorways, everything serving a purpose.

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Before.. there was life. Vivid green grass trapped between cobbled pathways  and bird song fluting down from the walls.

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Afterwards.. there were graves, so tidy hiding the truth about those entombed below the earth, none of those who lie beneath were ever this neat in life.

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Afterwards.. there was broken rock and twisted wood, the remains of the buildings shattered like the bones of those who inhabited them. Spiral staircases rearing up to the sky like jagged spines ending in emptiness and burns smeared across the pale stone.

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Afterwards.. there was death. Craters tinged with blood and raw angry magic bubbling up with hatred.

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With thanks to Zidormi who lifts the veil between past and present so that we will not forget and we will not forgive.

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On a Quest for the Best Quests : Dustwallow Marsh Alliance

Edit: Thanks to @spacebard for pointing out my Freudian slip with the name of the zone, as I prefer the place at twilight or dusk I have a terrible habit of calling it Duskwallow plus I suspect the correct name annoys me on some basic level because it’s not dusty in the slightest.

Leveling my Warlock has made me realise one fairly important fact, well two if you count that it highlights just how much I’m a creature of habit. Each zone seems to have at least two or three attractions within it, things which even if I’m just passing through I tend to be lured towards. Obviously this comes down to personal opinion and preferences but now I find myself wondering if this is true of every zone in game. Is there something  whether it’s because of the lore, the rewards or just the quirkiness which makes each individual zone interesting and worth repeating?

Well there is only one way to find out!

Today I want to look at Dustwallow Marsh, a zone I’ve always loved even back in the days when the Alliance barely had any quests here apart from the wonderfully convoluted “The Missing Diplomat” which had you running around Azeroth in search of the missing King. I know we could hardly be hunting Varian when he’s standing brooding in the Keep, but I wish when they redesigned the zone, they had left in the bit where Jaina and the Archmage port in to capture the bad guys.

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The one quest chain I always complete when I wander through the Marsh is that tragic tale of Smiling Jim and his unlucky family. There is something about Jim with his broken mind, perhaps the one person in the walled city for whom the destruction of Theramore was a blessing which always inspires me onwards to track down those responsible and of course to lay a wreath on the grave of his wife and son.

Flicking through my archives, I wrote about this chain way back in 2010 before Cataclysm ripped everything asunder and it’s interesting that unlike most quests in Azeroth it hasn’t actually changed much between now and then. The bread crumb from the Wetlands is gone but the essence of the chain remains the same.

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The second quest I tend to make a bee-line for is that terrible tale of a sea monster  named Tethyr. The chain begins with a quest to help a curious Gnome restart the Theramore Lighthouse and then once  you’ve got it going again, you learn from Nat Pagle that not only are legends of a sea monster off Theramore real but that Tethyr was the real reason they closed the lighthouse in the first place.

Yes, Tethyr is certainly real, and he lives in the waters off Theramore.

Has a thing for bright lights. He’s the reason they shut down the lighthouse in the first place, you know…

And if you light it up again, he’ll come right back. But no one in their right mind would do that.

Everyone’s favourite in-game fisherman and of course giant monsters with huge teeth are always going to be a winning combination.
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The Marsh is also the location of my favourite escort quest in the whole of Azeroth although to be fair that’s not particularly hard since I hate the rest of them with a passion.  Escorting Stinky through the marshlands as he pauses searching for what you assume the first time around is some tiny little flower hidden in the long grasses and swamp waters and saving him from angry crocodiles is fun enough by itself but that moment when you realise that plant which has taken him five minutes to find is actually the giant root you can see for miles…

The last thing I always do is pay Oxynia a visit in her lair and ponder the issue which has bothered me since the first time I killed her way back when, exactly who is the father of all those whelps? Our Priest chat* at the time decided it was either Bolvar or Marshal Windsor (well he knew she was Dragon…) although there are exceedingly dodgy theories out there on the internet if you are feeling brave enough to search for them.

*No one actually talked about Priesting, unless you count loot.

50 Shades of Grey: The IntPiPoMo edition

Karazhan in the rain

Incy wincy spider

A Tree

The Theramore Graveyard

Sunday Storytime: The Aftermath of Theramore

Just three little stories charting the reaction of my three very different Priests to the events of Theramore.

Night Elf

Twisting the soft shining fabric of her robes, the Nightelf Priestess lent against the Temple Garden walls. Eyes closed she tried to bring peace to her turbulent thoughts. Every time she felt she was winning the battle, pushing her unchecked emotions back into the pool of her subconscious, the image of a dark blue haired elf rose like a drowning woman, gasping for air and vengeance. As a tide of rage washed over the Priestess, her magic rose to answer it’s song and for a moment everything felt right. Then opening her eyes, she glanced down to see instead of the familiar golden light bathing her hands, ribbons of shadows twisting around them. For the first time in her long life, fear enveloped her in it’s dark embrace. An alien emotion, it sat smugly on her tongue like a toad, poisoning her mind. She could taste it’s sourness every time she swallowed and in response, the shadows weaved around her like a shroud.

Forsaken

The heat of Orgrimmar was just as oppressive as it’s walls, rich red sand coated everything and turned even the finest food to ashes on your tongue. Not that particular issue was a problem to  the Forsaken Priest surveying the city from her vantage point by the waterfall, watching the Orcs below as if they were ants on the dust. Stretching her aching bones, she moved to the shade, Garrosh was keeping them waiting on purpose, probably hoping the sun and the implied insults would push their tongues over the edge. He had a lot to learn, no one does patience like the dead. In dark crypts and in dusty coffins it pays to turn a blind eye to the passing of time, no point in measuring it out in cobwebs or decaying flesh. Hearing heavy footsteps, she looked up to see her escort heading her way, clearly it was time. Wrapping her long dark cloak around her boney shoulders, the Priest acknowledged their salutes and stalked towards her meeting with the Warchief. Once a soldier, always a soldier and for a brief second imagining the conflict to come, she felt almost alive again.

Gnome

Scurrying through the Mage quarter, wrapped in her heavy cloak, the Gnome slid from shadow to shadow, drawing no attention. Past the increased military patrols and past the gossiping Mages sitting outside the Blue Recluse she hurried. Up the winding staircase she ran, stopping only in the safety of her own little apartment on the top floor. It was only then, in private as she unwrapped herself from the woolly cloak, discarding her gloves and scarf that she allowed herself to weep. Spilling hot salty tears for those considered friends now nothing more than dust in the wind. Poor Cassa Crimsonwing who had wanted nothing more than to fly with her gryphons and Spot, whose excited barking would no longer echo through the stone passage ways of Theramore Keep. Eyes red and sore from crying, she started to collect her bits and pieces. Spell books, herbs, warm clothes, cool clothes, dried Heaven Peaches from Darnassus and a jar of pickled eggs all disappeared into the travelling bag. Throwing her tiny green ragdoll on top, the Gnome proceeded to bounce up and down on the case until protestingly it shut. Justice and revenge, when it comes down to it, they’re sisters under the skin and in that moment, Sprout didn’t care which she got.