On Friday, I did something I never ever thought I'd do.
I gave my druid to Mr. Littlebark.
I love leveling. I love the grind. I had 5 maxxed leveled characters at one point. My hunter, my druid, my warlock, my priest and my paladin.
Mr. Littlebark HATES leveling. He leveled his shaman to 80 when WOTLK came out because he had to. And he leveled his warrior with my priest. It took him 24 months to level his mage to 80. In the past two years, we've shuffled my toons to him because I don't play them and he's good at gearing them out.
I made it very clear that Littlebark was -and forever will be- out of bounds.
Maybe it's the valley of dullness I'm in at the moment with WoW. Maybe it's that I know that Catalysm is right around the corner. Maybe it's because I left the only two guilds I felt at home with and have been wandering solo for too long.
But when he asked -jokingly- for Littlebark, I said yes.
My toon that has my 4 pages of companion pets.
The toon that has TONS of exalted reputation.
The toon that I know like the back of my hand.
My only toon who has ever had a defined RP story.
So this is my hibernation till Catalysm. I'm -of course- leveling another druid to 80, and hopefully before Catalysm hits.
But even then, who knows? I'm still irked over the "you have to dps as a healer now" bit. So we'll see how things go and hopefully you'll see me once Deathwing makes the first tremor.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Littlebark stared at the parchment in front of her.
It held memories of people she had loved.
Say goodbye to who? Sighing heavily, she rested her head on her hand and played with the writing utensil. Neatly crossed out were names of friends come and gone.
Arriving in Northrend seemed so long ago; barely believable even to her that it had only been two years. So naïve she had been, she mused now, hopeful and ready to face anything.
She had been prepared for losses. After all, war wasn’t war without losing to gain something in the end. But to lose friends so close and dear! A price too high for a heart, especially when it happened over… and over… and over…
Old friend… I miss you, Littlebark shut her eyes, ignoring the tears that managed to squeeze through. Months had passed since they brought him back to the camp, wounded and in pain….
She looked up, startled at her name being flung around so loudly and frantically. “Tel? What’s the matter?”
The undead rogue was shaking, terror on his face, “LB, you gotta come save him. The other healers –they’ve tried everything!”
She sprung up from her cot, “Let’s go. Who is it?” When the rogue remained quiet, Littlebark stopped in her tracks, “Tel, who is it?”
Tel fidgeted under her glare, “It’s Ras'han.”
Littebark’s eyes went wide and her hands flew to her mouth. “Earthmother, give me strength,” she gasped, “Is it bad?”
He nodded, “they… nothing’s working.”
Everything changed. Her heart began to race and she began to run to the Med Tent. Not fast enough to her liking, she spread her arms and took flight. Her new eyes were better at seeing than her normal Tauren ones, and she quickly spotted which Med Tent the commotion was at. She dived, pulling up seconds before she hit the ground, morphing back into her normal form. Landing with a soft thud and a grimace, she pushed past the crowd blocking the entrance and shut the drape when she got in.
He was quite a sight.
Blood was splattered on his clothes, but the pain seemed to go beyond. His face was contorted in pain and he was panting hard, forehead shining with sweat. His usually healthy and bright green skin was a pasty color and his eyes darted around the room.
“What happened?” she demanded fiercely, jogging to his side. With a few words, she began to seep healing magic into him.
“Putricide proved too much for us,” Cryssam spat, rubbing her wrists. Blood caked her faced and stuck to her hair, “he was trying to hard to make up for the lack of healing that was going on.”
The priest didn’t miss the venom in Cryssam’s voice. “it was either move or we’d get killed and then you'd be short two healers,” he explained calmly, “Littlebark, careful now. That’s a disease, you don’t specialize in that.”
“Poi-poisons… and curs..es.”
Littlebark’s eyes snapped to Ras'han's face, concentration lines decorating her forehead, “hush now. You need the energy to get better.”
“Yes,” she whispered softly, “I know. I’m trying to make it better.” He fell into silence, still twitching and moaning softly. “Cryssam, start making arrangements to send him home.”
She looked at him, daring to take her eyes away from Ras'han, “by mail? A messenger?”
Cryssam sighed impatiently, “by portal or in a coffin?”
“How dare you-“
“BARK!” the priest quickly stood up, putting a hand on her shoulder and struggling to hold the giant druid back.
Littlebark glared at Cryssam, hating her for staring back with amusement and such cold eyes, “he’s going to make it.”
Shrugging nonchalantly, the death knight walked out of the tent. Littlebark shuddered slightly, as she always did when Cryssam was around.
Staring into the restless face of Ras'han, she began to panic. Who would she go to when she needed help? He was her source of entertainment in this cold land, one of her only friends left. He knew and had everything and was selfless enough to help her. She had arrived to the battalion and been so clueless and he had been kind enough to show her around and keep her informed. “You have to get better, you hear me?”
His eyes fluttered slowly. Maybe she imagined it or maybe he was trying to tell her everything was going to be okay… but she could have sworn that the force on her hand got heavier, as if chasing away all her fears.