Mistful of DPS healing

By the way, this tank was awesome

By the way, this tank was awesome!

And here I go again! I’ve started yet another healer, this time a mistweaver monk.  I’m leveling this one to be the healer in several Herald of the Titans runs.  Which in hind sight, might not have been the best idea considering that monks were not around when Wrath was current and there is no tier gear for them.  Oops.  I’m too far along though to turn back (BC leveled at the moment of writing).

I chose mistweaver for two main reasons.  I have never played a monk beyond level 20 and I was curious about fistweaving.  Monks beyond level 20 is a truly enjoyable affair, but fistweaving not so much.

First, let’s start with the positives.  I’m really enjoying monks!  I think the Chi system worked out remarkable well and feels intuitive (instead of tacked on like it is for paladins).  There’s a good rhythm of building and spending chi, especially for mistweaving.  And the accelerated leveling is a gift that keeps on giving.  Monks feel fast, light on their toes, and flexible.

If I had to pick one negative thing, I would chose the fact that one must constantly interrupt the channel of soothing mists.  For years I have been trained to never interrupt channeled casts until they are done.  Especially for healing abilities (Tranquility and Divine Hymn come to mind), you never want to interrupt if you can help it.  And this ingrained knowledge has made it difficult for me to interrupt Soothing Mists to cast other abilities.  It’s a small pet peeve, but I feel guilty every time I end Soothing Mists early.

While I think Mistweaving is enjoyable and lively, the same cannot be said for fistweaving.  I feel that fistweaving could be fun and enjoyable, but right now it is weak.  Very weak.  Perhaps this gets better with level or gear, but as it stands I cannot reliably heal by fistweaving.

I know I’ve already mourned the loss of dps healing, but it still haunts me.  There is just something innately appealing about being able to do two roles at once.  While I don’t advocate for the return of SoO disc levels of power (while enjoyable, it was a balancing nightmare), I do think that dps healing should have some sort of relevance.  It’s just too entertaining a mechanic to get nerfed into oblivion.

Other than fistweaving, monk has been an enjoyable healing class! Monks are different enough that the play style doesn’t feel like any other class, an impressive feat considering all the different healing builds out there.  And as a bonus, when I get to max level, there are a bunch of monk transmogs just waiting for me to wear them!

Fussypants Writes a Horror Story

He's sort of horror story-ish, right?

He’s sort of horror story-ish, right?

And now for something completely different, Fussypants writes a horror story!

Has I gone mad? No there’s a reason behind this!  I just got home from vacation and all of my time has been devoted to catching up on schoolwork.  In my English class, this meant I had to write a horror story (which was due today).  So I figured, instead of squeezing in a WoW article between all my schoolwork, that I would just post the story I already wrote for you all. No, its not WoW themed (that’s the really horrific part :P ), but I still think it’s kinda cool in a creepy, horror story sort of way.

So without further adieu, Fussypants presents….


 

Eaten Alive

They always told you that adulthood would be a fantastic thing. You would be free and independent, allowed to choose your own destiny. The world would be your oyster, and all you had to do was go out and pursue it. What they didn’t tell you about was the monotony. The mind numbingly dull repetition. You were one of the lucky ones who got a job. But stability granted you no relief from the endless drone of life. It wore on you, as endless as the ocean.

Every day was the same. He woke up, the alarm with its shrill insistent beeping. The shower was always cold and his shirts never as white as he hoped. Breakfast was the same cheap coffee every day. He caught the bus at 7th and Haviture, two blocks from his apartment. Fifteen minutes later, and he arrived at his job and his entire life.

The office building was a lifeless tan and unimaginative in design. It was as if the builders had all sat down and came up with as many boring and cliché elements to include before constructing. He didn’t look up, but he knew what was branded above the grimy doors. Pierson Law Firm. Even the name was bland.

Joined by the numbed masses, he trudged across the lobby and into the elevators. They slowly climbed, like old mules under the weight of all those people. At every floor, a tired ding announced their arrival. He got off at the 31st ding.

Every day was the same, and today was no different. He shuffled down the hallway of cubicles like a prisoner to execution. With a final sigh of surrender, the man lowered himself into his desk chair. The computer was switched on and slowly began to load. The Windows logo blazed across the screen, and he got down to work.

 

Several hours later, and he could no longer sit. His knees burned with disuse and his eyes ached. With a groan, the man stood up, and wandered over to the water cooler.

Now the water cooler was more than a simple place for refreshment. It was the heart and soul of the office. All gossip started here and all news came through it first. There were always two or three ‘condors’ there. A condor was someone who monitored all that happened at the cooler. No one could hang there without first earning the approval of a condor. And somehow, the condors never got in trouble for avoiding work. They were, despite their name, the top of the food chain in the office.

He meekly tiptoed over to the cooler. Today, the condors were two women from the larger cubicles and a man known as The Pen. All three were relatively powerful condors, but they were too immersed in their own conversation to notice the arrival of one lean, pale man in an ill-fitting work suit.

“I’ve heard that Boss is thinking of firing some of the dead weight around here,”

“Ooh, I knew the Firm was struggling, but I didn’t realize it was that bad!”

“What departments, do you think?”

“I don’t want to spread any rumors,” The woman lowered her voice, “but I personally think there will be cuts in the human resource department, also the tax, real estate….” The woman’s voice dropped even softer, and he could no longer hear her.

The cup rested, empty, in the man’s numb hands. His collared shirt suddenly felt like the tightest thing in the world, and he choked on the air. Before the condors could notice, he ducked away, back into the relative safety of his cubicle. Eyes wide with terror, he gazed unseeing at the walls of his cubicle. The company calendar hung next to the company’s mission statement. Our goal is to provide our clients with the highest quality legal services. We will not rest until every client has received the premier and professional service that they deserve. Will not rest… not rest….

Panic frizzing in the back of his mind, he committed himself even more to his work. The hours melted by, narrated by frantic typing. Endless lists of numbers blurred into one strip of glowing white. His nails clacked on the keys while his fingers jumped on the mouse.

BRRRRINNNNNGG!

The end of the day bell broke him out of his trance. From all around came the animated shuffling of dozens of people packing up and heading out. He stared at the screen, unable to comprehend the gibberish scrawled upon it. Then with sinking finality, he hit the grey submit box and packed up to head home.

The old mules carried him and all his coworkers down to the lobby. The man stared unseeing at the dull reflective walls. Unconsciously, he scratched at his cheek, rubbed his eyes, and played with his finger. The metal prison broke open and the people were released into the lobby. Like a zombie, the man stumbled out of the monotone building onto the waiting bus.

His apartment was dark. The man stood, staring into the darkness as reality poured into his soul. He might lose his job. The tiny shred of sanity onto which he clung. The life line which just barely kept him out of poverty. The stability that allowed him to wake up every morning. The man shook, and stepped into his apartment.

The fuzzy lights turned on, revealing a pile of envelopes that had been stuffed under the door. He reached down and snatched the pile. Junk. Junk. Catalog. Bill. Junk. Bill. Bill. Bill. He discarded the junk mail, and stared wide-eyed at the bills. As if staring at them could change the numbers inside. As if he could pay off his dues.

 With shaking fingers, he opened the bills. And stared. Those zeroes couldn’t be right. There must be some mistake. There was no way he could pay that much, even if he had twice the time to collect his money. He slammed the papers down on the table, and shut the door with a tremendous crash.

 Flinging off his coat, the man stormed into his kitchen. He ripped open the refrigerator, but found it pathetically empty. A scowl on his lips, and he turned to the cabinet. He snatched out the last Ramen noodles, partially crushing the plastic bowl. The kettle was filled, and he stared at the flames. He tried to compare them to his anger, but they were much too small and tame. His rage felt bigger, more consuming like a wild fire.

He stamped over to the couch, falling onto it with a grunt. The TV buzzed on, and its pale flickering filled the darkened room. News, something about a shooting. The man stared beyond the screen, completely ignoring the tearful testament of a mother. The story switched, and the announcer began to trill about the economy. Down, loss, spiral into depression. A business owner was interviewed, talking about how hard it was to operate, and how he’d have to lay off some workers if things didn’t improve. The veins stood out on the man’s forehead as he willed the business owner’s head to explode.

The kettle whistled its piercing scream, snapping the man out of his reverie. He rose slowly, and shuffled over. As the boiling water spilled onto dry noodles, the man felt his rage seep away as well. What was the point of being angry? What would that do for him?

The man returned to his couch, meal clutched in hand. He flipped the channels to one of those humorless comedies, and scratched his cheek again. Then, he began to eat.

Long after he was done, the man continued to stare at the television, willing his troubles to melt away like those in the shows. Always the same for them, half an hour later and all their problems were solved. Why did they get it so damned easy? What makes them special? A dark cloud descended and wrapped around the man, but still he blindly watched the blinking screen.

 

BRRRRINNNNNGG!

The man woke with a start. The TV still flickered, though the rays of dawn now cracked faintly through the shabby curtains. He jumped up with a start, and stared down at himself. Ramen was stained on his not quite white shirt. His pants were wrinkled and covered with cold noodles. And, scratching his cheek, he felt the stubble on his face. Another day, another dollar.

The shower was cold like it always was. His shirt was not as white as he would like, and the coffee was cheap and flavorless. But today was not the same. Several pimples had broken out on his cheek. A cloud of doom hung over him, and a sense of finality poisoned everything.

The bus was a little late, so he arrived at the building after he usually would. The mules only carried a few stragglers, and seemed to move much slower, as if they were tired already from today’s work. The 31st ding, and the man sprinted to his cubicle.

There was a note on the computer. You must fill the quota by today, or a meeting will need to be scheduled to discuss your work ethics. Thanks! ~Management. The man stared at the note like a loaded gun pointed at his face. Then, panic fluttering in his stomach, he sat down and began to type frantically.

It was a sea of numbers, and he barely could stay afloat. The numbers ate at him from the inside out and outside in. Forms upon forms splattered across the screen, all carrying one message. Doomed! You are doomed! Doggedly, the man typed on, all while sinking beneath the waves.

Too soon, the end bell rang. And still, dozens of forms needed to be filled. Thousands of numbers were unchecked. The quota was not filled. Not even remotely.

Empty. He was empty. A void, devoid of all sense of feeling. Like a man drowning in a pool, he could only stare at the quota. The unfilled quota. The quota that would lose him his job. For how long he sat, time cannot tell. But eventually, the dogged sweeping of the janitor brought him out of his trance. Fingers numb, he submitted the form and wandered out of the office.

The elevators carried him down, sinking into the lobby. His feet brought him out, out to the dark street. It had rained sometime in the day, and now the night was heavy with the wet orange haze. The sidewalks glistened orange. The air hummed with darkness. The sky, black and inky, glowed with the unearthly orange.

The bus had long since departed, so the man shuffled into the dim night. Humidity stuck to his clothing, and the gloom sunk in his mind. His cheek had really begun to itch, so he scratched absentmindedly. The orange buzz of the streetlights against the dark sky put him in a contemplative mood. With remorse, he questioned all that he did, and all that he stood for.

“Why is this job so important to you?”

“Because it provides me with the money to get by.”

“Get by to what? You have no end goals.”

“But if I don’t keep going, then I’ll fall apart.”

“And why is this a bad thing? You have no one to stay together for, no girlfriend or family.”

“….”

“Just fall apart. Give up. You’ve reached rock bottom and it’s time to end the race.”

“….”

“Just give it up….”

The apartment was dark. The man stumbled in, scattering the envelopes all across the floor. He did not notice, as he lurched about. Drunkenly, he lurched about before wobbling into the dank bathroom. He turned the lights on, and stared at his wide eyed, pale face.

His pupils were the size of coins. His left cheek was a swollen mass of red irritated splotches. His hair was disheveled and thinning. His shirt had been miss-buttoned, and was off kilter. And skin was pale as a skull. With trembling hands, the man opened up his medicine cabinet. He already knew which bottle to grab, and how many pills. He had calculated long ago.

A dozen pills rested in his hand. Their pearly white surface promised oblivion. And their promise was true. But there would be no going back. For hours, the man stared at the pearls. While they might seem white, they were truly black as death. But they were true.

A millennium passed.

The man did not move.

And slowly,

With soft motions

He dropped the pills back into the bottle

And returned it

To the darkness of the cabinet.

 

He felt a hundred years old. Aching bones and soul, he changed into his pajamas. He settled down on his hard bed under his thin sheets and stared at the ceiling.

“This job really is eating you alive”

He signed, turned over, and went to sleep.

 

BRRRRINNNNNGG!

The alarm shrieked, dancing all around. With purpose, the man rose. His shower was cold, his shirts never white enough, his coffee cheap. But today was not like other days. An air of purpose crisped the air. It was do or die time.

While in the bathroom, the man glanced in the mirror. He still looked pale, that was true, but there was a revival of life in his ashen cheeks. And speaking of cheeks, his left cheek had swollen to the size of a plum. It was turning a worrying black, and itched like a band aid on for too long. The man briefly flirted with the idea of going to see a doctor. But there wasn’t time, and certainly wasn’t money.

The bus dropped him off, and he marched with purpose into the bland building. The mules seemed energetic today, and the dings lively. At the 31st, he hopped off, and strode into his cubicle.

There was a note on the computer. Meeting in Conference Room B at 11. Attendance is required. ~Management. He rolled up his sleeves. It was do or die time.

With determination, he sat down and faced the numbers. The numbers streamed down endlessly, but he was ready today. Eyes focused, he battled the forms with vigor.   And in the back of his mind, he devised his plan. All the while, the hours slipped by.

11 ‘o’ clock struck, and way too soon. He wrapped up his work, and marched confidently to the conference room. A severe faced lady sat in the big chair, and his morale slipped a bit. But with bitter determination, he stepped in the room and sat down.

“Mr. Oliver is it?” It was not, “Please take a seat.” He was already sitting.

“The Firm has always valued its dedicated and hard workers. We pride ourselves in the fact that we employ loyal and diligent employees such as you, and we appreciate your many hours of dedication. However,” she paused, “In these trying times, difficult decisions must be made. And unavoidably, jobs must be cut. Here at the firm, we appreciate,” again, stress on this word, “the years of dedication you have provided. However, your recent works has not been up to par. And with the economic downturn, we cannot afford to have subpar employees.”

This was not at all going how it should be. The woman pressed on, emotionlessly ignoring the man’s shocked face, “I’m sorry Mr. Oliver, but we are letting you go. Please have your stuff packed and out of the office by the end of the work day.”

He sat there, drowning in the news. The woman offered no life preserver, no support, no comfort at all. At last, he was able to mutter something.

“I don’t get a chance to defend myself? I’m just… gone?” His voice cracked.

“I’m afraid so. The higher ups made this decision, not me,” The woman’s voice held no sympathy.

“I… I…”

“Good day Mr. Oliver,” With a curt nod, she stood up and strode out of the room. He looked in shock at the large chair she had just been sitting in. Fired… fired….

The man stood up in a trance. Unknowingly, he shuffled to his office, and slowly began to pack his things. There wasn’t much. Little stuff in his cubicle and no fire in his heart. He was cold and empty. Supplies in hand, the man wandered by the water cooler to the last time. The whispers of the condors followed him out to the elevator.

“Oh look, another one’s been fired,”

“Sucks to be him,”

The elevator carried him slowly down, a lonely ride to the end. Dazed, the man wandered out of the elevator, out of the building, and into the streets.

Somehow, his numb body got him home. Before he knew what had happened, he was at the door of his apartment. The apartment was dark, and the slits of light from the outside did nothing to penetrate the doom. The man wandered to his bathroom, peering brokenly into his reflection.

“They didn’t give you a chance. They didn’t even give you a chance. They ate you up and spit you right out when they were done. You meant nothing to them, and you never will,”

The man’s cheek was bothering him, but he ignored it in his broken stupor.

“They ate you alive, and left the bones to turn to dust.

His cheek began hurting more, a pinching and wriggling mass.

“They ate you alive…”

His cheek was a mass of motion. The man was drawn out of his stupor by the sudden pain. He glared at his face, and his eyes opened with horror. The skin under his cheek was moving, lumps squirming around the bulge of skin. The pain was unbearable.

“What is this?” The man nervously asked the mirror, raising a hand to scratch the lump

His fingers touched the blackened skin. The pain and motion suddenly froze, and all was still.

 

And then his skin exploded open. Thousands of tiny, somethings poured out, onto his face, onto his hand. The man screamed, and stumbled backwards. He stared in horror at the black specs skittering all about.

Spiders, they were spiders.

The man screamed again, and the spiders began to pour into his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his ears. He could feel their hairy bodies scraping the insides of his throat and ears and nose. They overwhelmed him, and he fell to the ground.

The spiders dug deeper into his body. All he could see were the spindly, hairy legs of thousands of spiders, all he could feel were their legs as they crawled into him. He tried to scream, tried to close his mouth, but there were too many, too many!

And then they began to eat. They ate at him, deep in his chest and his head. The man could feel as millions of tiny fangs as they dug into his flesh, tore at his body. The pain was incredible and they crawled down his throat by the millions.

They ate at him! They at him from the inside! He could not scream, could not fight, could not do anything but writhe on the ground as they crawled down his orifices. The skittering, thick, moving mass! Darkness and pain! Pain and darkness!

 

The spiders ate him alive, until there was nothing left but bones.

 

 

All about that Base….

Yotaan in his base

I was wrong.

 

And it’s a little tough to admit.

 

I’m playing WoW and it’s all about my garrison.

 

As you might remember, Fussypants and I wrote an article about garrisons wherein we discussed our thoughts and plans. I had written that it would be too much work, that Yotaan did not get very far in the farm, that it would be better if it all was account bound, and the mini-game aspect would not be engaging. I made a foolish Clash of the Clans comparison.

 

Cause of course, now, the garrison is the main reason I play any of my toons. I will log in and immediately check on those follower missions. Fat loot! Then Yotaan dashes over to the salvage yard (okay, some comments here – the salvage yard is the best thing since sliced bread but why is it so far away in Alliance garrisons? My hordie rogue does not nearly need to travel as far – Horde Bias?) and discovers more fat loot in those great crates. Yay!!! Time to level up the followers and boost their ilevels! All leading to the next step, more missions.

 

I have no idea why I enjoy the followers so much but that alone has kept me playing my max toons and even my ones in the lower 90’s. Perhaps there is just enough reward to entice further play. Certainly there is the feel of progression with leveling, and I think that feeling is multiplied with more followers – look, all 3 went up, at the same time!

 

Not all is perfect in garrison-land though. Sadly, professions are profoundly uninteresting and seem to be mostly useless. This is the first time that Yotaan’s leatherworking has barely advanced at all. I had thought that getting the Barn, initially as a way to obtain savage blood, would be fun. Trapping wildlife seems cool, but the actual process is a little tedious and very much a time sink. The leather production from the Barn is too slow as well. The leatherworking garrison options are just not enticing.

 

And yet, I am enjoying the stables, which I surprising. Catching new mounts is surprising fun. Yotaan is the collector of mounts of our cadre of alts, so that is biasing me a bunch. Plus, seeing a fat pandaren on the little talbuk is always funny.

 

Yotaan has become a bloodthirsty gladiator as well. I have leveled up the gladiator’s sanctum and have ran Ashran with Fussypants. If you join a group in Ashran and fight on the main road, then you become loaded in broken bones. Those bones are the currency for your sanctum for more, you guessed it, Fat Loot! Most of Yotaan’s pvp gear has come from there rather than vendors and you can see him in his finest in the picture.

 

So, shockingly, the feature I had the least amount of interest in, the garrison, has become my focus of play. I hope there will be added features in upcoming patches, cause it really is all about my base.

 

 

This post was entirely written by Yotaan.

 

A Whole New Guild

WoWScrnShot_020515_204251I’ve been having a ball in WoW recently.  No, I haven’t been raiding. Or PvPing.  Or even on  my main characters that much.  No, I’ve been in the WoWInsider Blizzard Watch guild ‘of The Queue’.

I rolled a draenei mage named Fussypants (surprise surprise) shortly after hearing about the guild.  I had created a character more just to have one in there, pop in occasionally, and stay connected to the Queuevians.  What I didn’t expect was for me to log onto that character everyday.

When I joined there were about 20-30 members; not huge but considering the guild was a day old, not too shabby either.  But over the next couple days, the guild grew explosively.  I think right now we are at about 270 some members.  And very few of those are alts.   So with about 200 active members, you can just imagine what chat is like.  Yup, solid wall of green.  Often times there are two if not three different conversations going on at once.  People are chatting, joking, and laughing at all hours a day!  For someone who has never been in a huge guild before, this is a pretty cool thing!

At first I was logging on just to level, read the chat, and occasionally contribute.  I sent out a lot of green linen shirts as a joke, but other than that I didn’t do too much with the guild. I was content to be a lurker.  But everything changed when I proposed an idea.
Of The Queue Guild SSAs a goodbye to WoWInsider, I set up and organized a guild screenshot to submit to Around Azeroth (and yes, it got chosen!)  All the members of the guild met up at the steps of Stormwind Keep in their best guild tabard and outfits, and we took bunch of screenshots.  It was a ton of fun and a huge success!

Shortly after this, I was offered, and accepted, a promotion to officer.

Now I’ve been spending most of my time sitting by the Stormwind fountain, chatting in /g, whispering various people, and setting up guild events.  I never knew how much fun it was to be a contributing factor in a huge guild.  People want to do things together and are always full of ideas!  I’m really enjoying just talking with so many people at one time.  I rarely ever level now; I just stand in one spot!

I won’t say that I was burning out on WoW, but I was definitely less motivated to log in.  I was slowly leveling up my toons, but not really for any reason, more just to have them all at 100.  Even PvP, my newly discovered hobby couldn’t keep me occupied for long.  I guess what I needed was a huge change up.  And the Blizzard Watch guild was just that.

So this is what I’ve been doing with most of my WoW time.  Socializing.  Heh, never thought I’d say that! I’m happy that this guild is working out thus far as its a really fun place to hang out!  I love my main’s guild too; its great to be in two different guild both full of great people!

Come join us! ‘Of The Queue’ is always recruiting any readers, lurkers, or commenters from WoWInsider Blizzard Watch! We are located alliance side on Nesingwary/Vek’nilash/Nazgrel US realms.  If you need an invite just make your way to the Stormwind fountain and, odds are, you will find me or some other member there!  Oh and yeah, we have a pretty spiffy forum page too!

Thank You WoWInsider

#save joystiqEDIT: WoWInsider will be shutting down on February 3.  I just….

I hope that the writers find success in all future endeavors, and that WoWInsider is remembered for many, many years to come.  You guys were the best thing to ever happen to the WoW community.  I feel like a part of me has been ripped away….

 

Thank you WoWInsider, thank you.

 

I have some potentially very sad news for you all today.  WoWInsider, your source for the latest and greatest in the World of Warcraft might be shutting down.  AoL plans to shut down Joystiq, the place where WoWInsider is hosted.  While the shutdown of WoWInsider has not been confirmed yet, there is definitely a risk of this happening.  If the shutdown were to happen, I’m not sure if the website will disappear into the void but for certain this would mean the end of all new publications.  The end of WoWInsider.

I’m going to be brutally honest here: this sucks.  This sucks hard.  Like when a family pet dies or a friend moves away for forever.  WoWInsider in many ways is the lifeblood of the WoW community.  When I heard the news I actually teared up a bit (and then ranted on Twitter).  The shutdown of WoW Insider would mean the destruction of a community that I can safely call my own.

Because WoWInsider is so much more than just a website.  WoWInsider is people.  Its the writers, the commenters, the trolls, the readers, and everyone and anyone who has contributed to the site over the years.  WoWInsider is a community.  In fact, it’s one of the better communities out there.  Are there trolls?  It’s the internet, there are always trolls.  But far outnumbering the few unsavory individuals are the people.  The Mathew Rossi, Anne Stickney, Alex Ziebart, Adam Holisky, Olivia Grace, Christian Belt, JeffLaBowski, Scott Leyes, Mogs, Valencemagi, Armenius, Draknfyre, Razwick92, Liopleurodon, Sleuth., Retpallyjil, Eliza, HerrKlokbok, Chrth, and every other person who has commented or written on the web page (if I missed you, I’m sorry! I still love you all!). WoWInsider is made of people.

But just as WoWInsider is made of people, WoWInsider has also made people.  I personally owe a HUGE portion of my success to the site.

.
When I first started reading WoWInsider, it was just like my experiences with WoW: over the shoulder of my dad.  One of my first memories of the site was way way back in the days of WoW.com, there was a drawing contest.  I remember being amazed at what the people could make and awed that it was all WoW related.  That is what inspired me to try to make WoW themed art, something I have continued to do to this day.


Eventually I graduated from reading over my dad’s shoulder to reading the site by myself.  For years I read about the crazy antics, wishing I could join in (I was still much too young).  I remember laughing my head off at the Choose My Adventure  (Especially Archmage Pants’ bits).  I remember the great Orcish Proverb Breakfast topic, which is still saved in my bookmarks.  There were days where I’d hit refresh over and over again, waiting for a new article.

Then a year ago, my dad came up with the idea of writing a WoW blog together.  We both really enjoyed the game and I really enjoyed to write, so the logical step was to make a blog.  And one of the starting ideas we had was to submit articles to the Community Blog Topic that WoWInsider then hosted every week.  So I made an account for livefyre and we did.

Looking back, my writing was pretty terrible then.  But it didn’t matter.  Mine and my father’s words were posted, with very litter altercation, on the front page of the webpage that I had read for years and years.  It was a surreal moment.

From there, it only grew.  I began to get dozens of hits from WoWInsider, and the commenters convinced me to join Twitter.  From there, the rest is history.  I have met a bunch of amazing people, been able to play with many more, and have made friends that I would have never guessed.  And all because of WoWInsider.

If it hadn’t been for WoWInsider, its pretty safe to say that I would not be blogging.  I would not be on Twitter, I would not be raiding (the majority of my raiding happens with people I’ve met because of WoWInsider), and I might not even still be playing WoW.  This is how big of an impact that WoWInsider has had on my life.

So to say that WoWInsider is merely a website is to ignore the people who contribute to it and the people who are helped by it.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: WoWInsider is the lifeblood of the Warcraft community.  WoWInsider is a friendly and vibrant group of people who all love WoW.  WoWInsider connects people from all walks of life and unites them under one hobby.  WoWInsider is the meeting room for gamers that is ever open to new members.  It’s the best source of news and the greatest spot for debate.  It’s the best mishmash of chili, haikus, WoW tin foil hat lore, My Little Pony, GIFs, and HMDI converters there will ever be. WoWInsider is pretty dang amazing.

Created by the magnificent Scott Leyes

Created by the magnificent Scott Leyes

Remember the haikus.  Remember the class columns.  Remember the Scott Leyes photoshopped images.  Remember the 1k+ comment Queues.  Remember the memories.  And #SaveWowInsider.

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Transmog Time: Monk-pocalypse

I have a dirty little secret.  I love to make monk transmog sets, but I don’t have a monk high enough leveled to wear them.  For months now these have sat shamefully, burning a hole in the back of my bookmarks.  I’ve decided to come clean and show the world my dirty little secret.  So please enjoy this rendition of Fussypants goes transmog crazy: Monk Style!
Dragon Warrior MonkDragon Dancer
This first look was based entirely off the shoulders.  I saw someone wearing these, and thought the dragon glow (which fades in and out of existence) was the coolest thing ever.  But when I looked up the rest of the set, I was thoroughly unimpressed.  A little searching and I created the perfect dragon monk set!  Glowy and cool, but still practical and not too flashy. (BEWARE: There seems to be a bug on WoWhead right now where the chestpiece for this shows as invisible, so click the model viewer at your own risk)

Chest: Hillman’s Leather Vest   Staff: Aspirant’s Staff of Harmony                              Gloves: Hillman’s Leather Gloves        Head: Adventurer’s Bandana                 Legs: Rigid Leggings    Shoulders: Grievous Gladiator’s Copperskin Spaulders        Belt: Grievous Gladiator’s Waistband of Cruelty      Boots: Rigid Moccasins

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Electric Bogaloo MonkThe River
This was another one of those sets where I loved certain aspects of it, but not others.  So I mixed some newer gear with older greens!  Seriously, how can you not like those glowy blue orbs/beads? Note: This does not look as good on male toons because the boots do not cover past the knee and the shorts are frayed.  If anyone can find a better alternative, please let me know!

Chest: Clefthoof Hidemantle        Shoulders: Red Crane Mantle                          Belt: Weaver’s Cord of Eternal Autumn        Gloves: Tharill’s Blessing              Boots: Clefthoof Wanderboots       Staff: Ghost Iron Staff                                   Legs: Trickster’s Leggings       Head: Red Crane Crown

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Drunken Brewmaster MonkThe Drunken Brawler
Technically speaking, this next set is not restricted to monks only! I was going for a more rugged look for this, and also straw hats are fun! Another added benefit: because of the color scheme, many pieces can be swapped out if farming proves to be too difficult (I am guilty of this).

Chest: Heraldic Breastplate       Shoulders: Shoulder of the Ogre Nabber            Belt: Potent Belt      Gloves:  Heraldic Gloves       Boots: Swabbie’s Booties      Staff: Suen-Wo, Spire of the Falling Sun or Cranedancer’s Staff                        Legs: Earthbound Leggings     Head: Straw Hat

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The Road Warrior MonkThe Road Warrior
Rejoice! This one isn’t monk restricted either! I was going for a sorta ‘warrior on the road’ vibe, and I kinda like how it turned out! Plus, this kilt model has always fascinated me because it is actually pants that have been stretched into a skirt.  Yes, I think about the important things.

Chest: Grizzly Jerkin      Shoulders: Defiant Spire Shoulderguard                        Belt: Snow Lily Belt        Gloves: Gory Gloves      Boots: Thunderlord Sabatons      Legs: Kilt of Sewn Flesh      Head: Runic Leather Headband

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Classic MonkClassic Monk Set
A very classic monk look, slightly redone.  And yes, not restricted to monks (rogues would look pretty rockin’ in this too!)

Chest: Leather Tunic of Eminent Domain      Shoulders: Puncture-Binding Spaulder Boots: Landfall Leather Boots      Gloves: Gloves of the Silver Assassin             Belt: Belt of the Merciless Killer      Legs: Leggings of the Broken Beast           Head: Cursed Vision of Sargeras

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Starcaller transmogStarcaller
Last but not least, a druid look! I respecced my druid to boomkin (with Glyph of Stars of course) and I realized that I had absolutely zero transmog outfits for her! That certainly won’t do! I was going for a starcaller look, hence the tabard.  Keep in mind that I made this with the intention of having the Glyph of Stars up, so the whole thing would be blue and sparkle.  And yes, this is not class restricted.

Chest: Lo’ap’s Tunic of Muck Diving        Shoulders: Spaulders of the Ring         Belt: Mighty Girdle   Gloves: Gloves of the Silver Assassin    Boots: Acidmaw Boots Staff: Ethereum Life-Staff or Apostle of Argus       Legs: Shattrath Leggings       Head: Phantasmal Headdress      Tabard: August Celestials Tabard

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It has been laid bare.  My obsession over monk transmog, my apparent love for the one shouldered look, and my over-usage of the color brown in transmog. What do you folks think? Any improvements you would suggest? Which was your favorite?

First Normal Highmaul!

Hey, would you look at that.  I actually got a screenshot from the raid!

Hey, would you look at that. I actually got a screenshot from the raid!

As the saying goes, the squeaky wheel gets the oil.  And this proved to be true for me.  Mere hours after I posted my last article about my inability to raid this expansion, I got some fantastic advice in the comments and an invitation to another blogger’s normal raid.  You guys absolutely rock!

So problem solved! I now know the Highmaul fights!  And here’s how it happened!

Shortly after posting the article, I got a twitter DM from another blogger named Ambermist (you should all go check out her blog, she has some amazing stuff on raiding and WoD in general) offering to take me along on her normal clear of Highmaul.  I got Yotaan’s permission, downloaded Mumble, upgraded some gear and I was ready to rock.

I was invited to the raid and right away given a quick and concise rundown of the fight (it turns out there are tiger pits in the Kargath fight).  As soon as I was caught up, we were off!  I was healing so I got a good feel of the damage going out in each fight as well as deadly mechanics to watch for, which is absolutely perfect!

We tore through Kargath (if he focuses, run him through fire) and sped onwards into the raid.  Before each boss, Ambermist would give me a great little overview.  The Butcher (stack with ranged, run back after knockback) and Tectus (move right if you have debuff, otherwise move left) both went down without a hitch, and we were at Brackenspore (heal the mushrooms!).  We did wipe to this but we quickly picked ourselves back up, located the problem, and fixed it, downing Brackenspore with ease.

Up next were the Twin Ogrons.  I was a bit worried about this one because this is the one fight that people wipe on in LFR.  But my fears were unfounded because a quick explanation and boss fight later, and the Twin Ogrons (stack, avoid fire, shield charge, and ground swirlies) were down!  Ko’ragh was up next (run away when boss is coming to make silence circle, heal hardcore through shadow and energy marked players) and before I knew it, we were at Imperator Mar’gok.

Mar’gok unsurprisingly was the toughest fight in the raid.  There were a lot of mechanics to watch for (jump DON’T SURF waves, stack and avoid runes, stack for intermission unless you have mark, heal like crazy all the time) and a lot of raid wide damage going out.  We wiped a few times, but each time we popped back up and tightened our method.  Finally, with the help of another healer from their guild, the sorcerer king fell!

I want to send a huge thanks to Ambermist and her guild Check Please! Without them, I definitely couldn’t have done this!  The raid was clean, efficient, and cheerful, a perfect environment to learn the fights.  And I just want to say, I was super impressed by their ‘get stuff done’ manner! When things were going horribly wrong, we would quickly and cleanly wipe it instead of wasting time.  And even though people were streaming in and out of the raid group, everyone who joined was super focused and professional!  Very remarkable!

So now I have a pretty solid working knowledge of the fights in Highmaul.  I also have quite a few Normal pieces of gear (something I did not expect at all!) which helped greatly to increase my ilvl! I am ready to begin raiding again!  Huge thanks to Ambermist and Check Please for unlocking the world of raiding for me!!