Not Addicted

So, yeah. Many a blogger has wondered aloud why WoW (and most MMOs) are basically unparalleled meat grinders of genocide and animal hating. Most quests involve the senseless slaughter of Mob X for the looting of Doodad Z. Wether that mob is a humanoid, animal, or demon never really seems to give us pause. I’ve actually stopped reading quest texts at this point. I just hit the ‘Yeah, Whatever’ button, and then check the bullet list in Monkey Quest to see what I need to do for ‘teh moneys’. Blizzard has apparently decided to have some fun with this, by having us slaughter pot heads out on the Isle of Queldanis.

Uhh...

Is it me, or does that guy just seem to be sitting peacefully on the beach, enjoying a nice calming view of the ocean? It’s raining, but it’s a nice, peaceful rain. He’s had a tough day and he just really needs to...

Um, die, apparently.

As bad as that is, I eventually found myself waking people up to kill them. You know how much it sucks to be woken from a nice nap, or having to get up in the morning to go to a job you hate? Yeah. At least you weren’t being rudely awoken by a cheapshot to the face, kidney shot to the pee pee makers, and then proceed to fucking DIE. This poor chump was taking a nap next to a corpse. Maybe he was just pretending to be dead, hoping I’d pass him by? Too bad those big stupid Z’s are flying out of your face, or the trick may have worked.

I finish my quest and proceed to head into Magisters’ Terrace, the new 5 man dungeon. Who do I find inside, but my new best friends? A group of them appear to be sucking some energy out of a big crystal. Two are pretty tuckered out; they’ve just sat down and are taking a break. There’s a hookah smoldering nearby.

Some friends have gotten the munchies, and gone over to the green ball of smoke to have a snack.

Are these my enemies? They’re just a bunch of fucking hippies.

I head back outside, determined to make peace. I put away my swords, and take off anything that might be threatening. I don’t have a Flower or my Blue Sparkler on me, so I equip my fishing pole. I figure a hippy would be cool with a real Man of the Land. Perhaps we can come to an understanding, and share a Raw Mithrilhead Trout while we wax poetic on current events.

Or maybe not.

Fuck that. I tried to be cool, but you brought it on yourself, asshole. I come with the olive branch, and what do you do? YOU THROW IT IN MY FACE. Get ready you pieces of shit, it’s fucking ON.