The Craft of War: BLIND

Nice animation with some astounding fight scenes.

For the higher-rez version (worth the download time) go to Vimeo.

How to drop a Mammoth

While my own toons are currently on hiatus, I thought I would post a video from BigRedKitty.

Enjoy:

Gnaked Gnome Race, continued

This is the movie that BRK made of the event.



I can't see myself or Daphnie in the crowd, but we were there.

Gnaked Gnome Race

So, my girlfriend, Daphnie, and I entered this race.

We danced in the snow, in our underwear, waiting for the race to start, when this impressive looking dwarf rides up and announced that the race was about to start.

Once underway, we took off like a... well, a herd of gnomes.
There was much carnage as the race progressed. I was too busy running to take pictures, so I let others do it for me.

At the end of the race, at the end of the dock in Booty Bay, I waited for Daphnie to catch up, so we could go home and rest.
Apparently some of the runners went on to Orgrimmar, but Daph and I just couldn't make it that far.

It was fun, but we were very tired. Maybe we'll do it again next year.

Yours Truly,

Arctyrias, the mage.

Training Day

I've been a dual-wielder for most of me career, but I decided ta try polearms for a bit. Jus' ta try 'em out, ye know?

Well, also this nice spear fell inta me lap. T'was too good ta pass up.

Trammed down ta Stormwind City ta train up with Master Woo Ping (nice chap fer a human), an' then out ta the Blasted Lands (well named, if ye be askin' me).

Among th' cultists that camp there an' endanger th' lives of hapless adventurers, there are those that are called "Servants of Sevine". Interestin' folk, these. It appears they kin save their souls in some kind o' stone, an' keep fightin' fer well neigh fere'er if'n ye neglect to break their stones.

So, here be th' way ta train yerself in any melee weapon from skill levels one ta whate'er (assumin' yer a BM hunter of sixy-fifth level or higher): Pull a Servant of Sevine with a Distractin' Shot. He comes runnin' at ya and takes a swing, but then yer pet growls and re-directs his attack ta the pet. Now all ye do is keep whackin' away with yer new weapon an' rackin' up th' skill points. Jus' remember ta cast an Improved Mend Pet whene'er yer boon companion drops below about three-fourths o' his or her health.

I kept at it fer o'er an hour. When done, I just ran away. Yer pet will vanish when yer far enou', an' ye can easily call him or her back.

I thought a tryin' this idea ta get meself a crossbow, but then I realized I'd run out'a ammo afor I was done!

Running of da Bulls: Aftermath

Nearly a full cycle of the moon since the race, I have seen few of the runners return. Yet still does the pride of running with so many of my kindred burn within my chest. The glory of that day will not soon be forgotten by the Tauren.

Of those who have kept in touch, I treasure as boon companions. My old friend and mentor, Balaah of the Red Axe, regrets having missed the race, and thus a share of the glory.

Perhaps, as it is my deepest wish, the day will come when the pride of the Tauren will run again.

Alas, it is not within me to see the future. Such things are but dreams.

Firbeck's new mount

Since growin' up amidst the snow-covered peaks o' Dun Morogh as a wee lad, I've had a liking fer cats. I tamed a snow leopard soon after leaving home, and went in search of a kitty mount.

Sadly, it seemed th' only way t' purchase such a mount directly was t' be a Night Elf. Feh.

As a dwarven hunter, gettin' reputation w' Darnassus t'was nae th' easiest thing. It seemed more logical t' go to Winterspring an' get ma ride there.

Logical, t'was. Easier, nae so much. It took months o' grinding. Slayin' chimerae, bears and frost giants by th' hundreds. An' the firbolgs... Ah, many fell before me bullets and Spot, me snow leopard.

Finally, I neared th' end. All I needed was a firbolg shaman t' complete the quest, an' I ken th' location exactly.

In th' cave o' their high chief, there t'was always a shaman. But, when I arrived, I saw only a night elven hunter, seekin' th' same prize as meself. I ken th' shaman would arrive soon, so I set down t' wait.

As I was partakin' a wee dram from my flask, th' shaman came up th' hill. Alas, th' sneakin' night elf snuff'd him like a candle b'fore I could draw me rifle.

I curs'd 'till th' ice in th' cave turn'd blue, but th' elf laugh'd an' capered about like a boggart. She seem'd t' ken this t' be quite th' jest.

I grumbl'd as I set me traps an' wait'd fer th' next shaman.

I spied him approach, an' drew a bead even as Spot raced t' th' kill. Alas, the elf drew first, an' I was denied my prize.

Thus went th' day.

Finally, th' elven lass became bored with tauntin' me. She were no-where t' be seen when th' last shaman show'd his furry head, an' I nail'd it with me first shot.

I return'd t' th' Wintersaber Trainer in triumph! An' now I ride a cat, with Spot at me side.



Darn, but I hate night elves...