Back when I played World of Warcraft I used to keep a blog for my adorable gnome warlock. Every Saturday I share another of her adventures here. The following was originally posted March 2, 2006
My voidwalker is a wuss.
I’m told that lesser mortals need to form teams in order to get anything done. Like someone will get a quest to run up into Redridge Mountains and murder a flock of gnolls, and instead of just getting their act together and taking care of it, they enlist the aid of three or four other nobodies to help out. It’s just a big fat unnecessary circlejerk as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, it’s the job of someone on this so-called team to tank. Now, what the tank does is stands in one place getting molested by monsters while more productive members of the team stand back launching arrows and fireballs. And as it turns out, we warlocks eventually get our very own personal tank: the voidwalker.
So there I was, a young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed warlock, and the guy in Stormwind is like “So how would you like to learn to summon a new demon?”, and of course I’m all like “Schway,” so one thing leads to another and now I’m stuck with Kal’rath.
Kal’rath is a big gassy blue guy who complains all the time. Like, “Lady Crys, the elite Stranglethorn tiger bit me!” Or, “Lady Crys, I got chased across the Barrens by an axe-weilding tauren when you threw those meteors down into the Crossroads!” Or, “Lady Crys, can I please have Unending Breath too? I could really use some oxygen!”
The worst part is, though, he doesn’t even do his job. After getting hit a few times Kal’rath wusses out and runs and hides behind me. I end up tanking for him.
It’s the most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. He’s just not good for anything… except when I bottle up pieces of him and sell them off to junkies who get high huffing his fumes.
But all’s well that ends well. A few levels later I finally got a hold of my very own succubus, Cattnys, who is more awesome than Kal’rath any day of the week. For one thing she actually kills things… and between you and me, I think she secretly enjoys the whole fem-dom thing. For another, I can rent her out to drunken sailors in Menethil Harbor on weekends. You ever try to collect payment after an angry dwarf learns he’s spent his shore leave with an amorphous purple blob? It’s not pretty.