There’s a writing contest up over at TooManyAnnas that some of you might be interested in.

This has been a public service message.

~Ego

Don’t forget, the contest will officially close on July 1 - that’s next Wednesday!

There’s still plenty of time to get an entry or two or three in before the time is up, but the contest will be closed, closed, closed for entries whenever I wake up and get around to it on Thursday morning.

We’ve got a lot of awesome entries, but there’s always room for more! Check out the original post for details.

~Ego

For those who were following Tayt’s newest adventure, the end is available on my writing website.

Enjoy!

Barnacles and Pineapples Part 2

It’s been nearly a year, can you believe it? July 28, 2008, Hannelore made her debut post full of spite and almost-repressed hatred of all things Vonya. She tried, at first, to avoid just telling a lot of stories about bad pugs - even had a whole post devoted to how she would talk about good pugs and how to do it right. And then everything went wrong and she took up a few bad habits, and now she’s some mana crystal chomping addict with a thing for pain. Still, it’s been a success.

Hannelore made it to outland, albeit months after everyone else left. She then made it into Northrend, healing all the way. She’s faced off against douche knights, huntards, a rogue dressed as a huntard, and even the zombie apocalypse. I’d be hard-pressed to tell you which one was worse. All of them were entertaining.

And that is what meta achievements are all about. Various sundry tasks, when taken in conglomerate, make a whole that is greater than just the sum. Not all of the stories have been experienced just through the eyes of the blood elf priestess, Hannelore. A lot of the experiences were taken from the perspective of a night elf druid, or a troll rogue, or a human warlock. The most difficult part of the meta was the fact that the stories were all told from a perspective nearly opposite to that belonging to the author. I’m glad to have entertained and maybe educated from behind the mask, but I have to admit: I’m a little horrified at the number of people that agree with some of the things Hannelore has said! It’s certainly been educational for me, that’s for sure.

This may sound like some sort of a farewell post, and perhaps that is what it will turn into. Things are changing across the blogosphere, reflecting a change in the game itself and the age and maturity level of its players. Over the last five-plus years, the audience has changed dramatically. And while long-time players have themselves changed, they’ve also witnessed an influx of newer players who have yet to go through those changes; whether as players of video games and MMOs in particular, or as human beings with all the life experiences that happen over the course of five years.

As Hannelore continues her adventures, she’ll run into the same people over and over again, under different names and played by different puppeteers. There will be the hunter that doesn’t know anything except volley, the death knight who thinks “yank-and-spank” is a valid form of CC when the tank is in trouble, and the rogue that is stealthed in the corner and afk.

And whether I have the opportunity to write about those adventures or not, there will also always be an egotistical priest.

As some of you may have noticed, there have been some rather large empty spaces on Ego post days lately.

I’m burnt out.

There’s a point where you think you might be getting burnt out, and then the point where you’re pretty sure you’re burnt out, and then somewhere down the line, you look back and admit that you’ve been burnt out for a while and have been playing the game on fumes and for the sole purpose of spending time with friends, rather than because of any interest in the game itself.

Which, while not necessarily an innoble motivation, it does lead one to something of a crisis.

Namely, I’m taking a break from the game, and here I have this blog which revolves around said game.

So I’m taking a break from the blog, as well.

A few obvious questions, answered.

Does This Mean Ego is Finished?

Not yet, but maybe. I want to give myself about a two month break before I make a decision like that - burnout leads just as easily back into love of the game as it does a decision never to play again, and this is hardly the first time I’ve felt burnout.

IF I come back from my break and I have no desire to play WoW, I will close Ego at that time, and I promise an appropriately sappy farewell post then.

What About the Contest?

The contest is STILL ON. I did the contest partially so that the blog wasn’t completely dead while I took my break.

The only difference is that NOW I actually see some of your entries, and I’m going to have to enlist extra help judging the thing because you guys are just too good. Egads, have you guys read the entries yet? Stellar lineup.

When Will I Be Back?

I will be back for the end of the contest at the latest, and I’ll be posting the winners and prizes for those at that time.

If, by that time, I haven’t recharged my warcraft batteries, I imagine I will also be posting my farewell.

*lovemuffins*
~Ego

Whee!

Everybody loves contests, right? Right.

I am hosting TWO (count ‘em, TWO) contests. Both contests will end on July 1. That means you’ve got almost two whole months to submit your entries.

July 1.

Don’t forget.

So, what are the contests?

Rules

I’m putting the rules up first because nobody reads them if I put them on the bottom.

Ownership

You have to be the one who wrote the story. Seems a little silly to have a rule for it, but I don’t want anyone posting an excerpt from a WoW novel or anything like that. Use your own work.

Entry Submission

You must either paste your entry into a comment -OR- supply a link to your entry in the comments. I recommend pasting the link, because it’s a great way to generate traffic to your blog. Feel free to include a teaser in the comments to encourage more people to go read your entry.

Do NOT email me entries. Do NOT comment your entries on other blog posts here - I can’t possibly keep track of them all if they’re scattered throughout random posts.

I do this for my own sanity - when the time comes to judge this puppy, I want to scroll through the comments on THIS blog post and read them all. I don’t want to remember that I was sent eleven emails, or that some of them were entered on a blog post written two months from now.

Please. I beg you. Entries or links to entries go HERE.

I will disqualify any entry which does not appear in these comments. I will do it with love. Loving disqualification.

Number of Entries

Enter either or both contests as many times as you like.

Length

• Contest 1 - no more than 140 characters (including spaces).
• Contest 2 - No more than 1,500 words.

Grammar and Punctuation

Not graded, although it may impact the way I view the piece. I do not intend for this to be a writing skill contest - those for whom English is a second language, and those who misspell, forget punctuation, and can’t quite wrangle an apostrophe are encouraged to enter. Again, I will not grade directly on grammar, but it CAN have an impact if you send me something that doesn’t even have spaces in it. I’m forgiving, but I’m still human.

Content

Both contests are “writing” contests. I put that in doublequotes because you don’t have to be a professional writer to win, you just have to move me in some way. Make me smile, make me laugh, make me go “D’awwwww”, make me cry - whatever emotion you want to evoke in your reader.

The stories/fiction/writing need to be about ANIMALS IN WARCRAFT.

That’s all caps because it’s important. The animal can be a beast encountered in the game, or a hunter’s pet, a critter, or even a non-combat pet.

This is a WoW blog, so it has to be warcraft-related.

Update : Moving answers to questions upward :

• The animal does NOT have to be the main character in the story.
• Druid forms and dragons count as animals.

Judging

I and a hand-selected group of friends will vote on the winners. I get two votes, because I said so. Everyone else will only get one. I may even let Hanners have a vote, unless she decides to enter.

I promise only that the judging will be utterly arbitrary and based on personal preference rather than quantifiable, measurable things.

It will not be based on skill or length. It will only be based on which stories had the biggest IMPACT on us as readers. Which stories do we go back to? Which ones do we read over and over again? Which ones make us smile every time we read them? Which ones do we link to our friends so they can read them as well?

Those are the ones that are going to win.

Contest 1

World of Twittercraft. For those of you living in caves, Twitter is a messaging platform, a bit like a blog, only with a 140 character limit.

You do NOT have to have a Twitter account in order to enter this contest. I recommend using the Twitter client so that you can be 100% certain that you’re within the 140 character limit before you post your entry, but it’s certainly not a requirement. You can post the “twitterfic” directly in the comments, twitter it (and post a link to that specific twitter entry), or blog it and post a link to your blog.

This contest especially, grammar will be VERY leniently graded. When you only have 140 characters to work with, sometimes extraneous letters get in the way. You want to make sure the meaning still comes across, of course.

The idea behind THIS contest is that not everyone is a writer. It can be hard to compete with people who ARE. Twitter is short enough that anyone can enter without spending too much time on each entry. “I really like bunnies. <3″ is a valid entry. No writing experience needed.

Contest 2

World of Writecraft is for those of you who (like me) really want to stretch your ideas through a longer bit of fiction.

Entries for this contest can be anywhere from 1 paragraph long to 1,500 words long. 1,500 words is actually quite a lot. For a silly contest like this, I’d think it’s longer than most people will actually need, but you’re free to go all the way to the limit if it makes you happy.

Contest Prizes

And, of course, what you were all waiting for. The prizes.

Both contests will have two winners. There will be a Grand Prize Winner and a Runner up for EACH contest. I reserve the right to reward honorable mentions if I so choose.

Grand Prize is a fully-colored hand-drawn illustration of the warcraft animal depicted in your story. Alternately, if you’d prefer me to write a short story (up to 1,500 words) for a character of yours, I will do that instead.

Example : Ravager

Runner Up Prize is a hand-drawn and colored bookmark of the warcraft animal depicted in your story -OR- a short story (again, up to 1,500 words) for one of your characters.

Example : Character Bookmarks

Bear in mind that if you win and choose an art prize, I’ll want some kind of mailing address from you so that I can mail the art to you.

Summary

Contests! Two of them! Enter in the comments here before July 1!

Any questions? Ask away!

Images

I will be adding images to mark those comments which are entries.

The kittyface is for the World of Twittercraft entries.

The buckteeth are for the World of Writecraft entries.

Even the approach to Utgarde Keep was treacherous.  While Hannelore caught her breath behind a tree, she heard the hunter of the group cry out from across a chasm that he’d found an easier route down.  She rolled her eyes and ducked out from cover to cast a rather violent spell at the warrior.  Though healing in nature, the force of the penance rocked the tauren three times, threatening to upset his balance as he faced off against three of the huge man-like vrykul.  He shot her a glower, but his wounds were sealing up over the oversize snout, so Hannelore blew him a kiss and faded into transparency.  The battle gradually fell quiet with the blood knight shoving a blade through the last twitching corpse.

“Where’s- ?” began the rogue, his rasping voice coming from the shadows.  Hannelore, the priestess, was getting the impression that the hunched Forsaken wasn’t even attempting to hide at the moment - it had become purely habit.  His question was interrupted by a scream and the sound of metal on armor deep in the chasm.  The troll had discovered his shortcut to the dungeon was also a direct route to the Alliance base camp.  “Nevermind.”

“We’ll find another,” growled the warrior and he shoved his axe back into position under the shield on his back.  “Let’s get a move on.  I don’t want to be in this place after sundown.”

“A connection lost with the earth mother or something?” asked the blood elf knight, sneering at the much larger bull-man.  The other two fell in line behind them.

The tauren rolled his shoulders under the heavy plate armor and stole a glance at the afternoon sun.  “I don’t like facing the undead in the dark.”

Hannelore looked out of the corner of her eyes at the rogue beside her.  Whether he noticed the look or not, she couldn’t tell.  He pulled absently at a loose buckle on the leather armor over his sunken torso.  Very quietly, as though he were talking to himself, the dead man murmured, “Neither do I.”

—

The furnace was incredible.  Even from this far away, the magnificent heat of the apocalyptic flames felt like they were cooking her slender arms.  The orc, a shaman that had joined them at the entrance of the dungeon, gave her a querying look as Hannelore put a cloak over her shoulders.  The extra heat of one more garment was nothing compared to the feel of that direct radiating blaze on bare skin.  She lifted her chin haughtily at the broad-shouldered greenskin and dared him to voice his curiosity.  He shrugged it off and turned back to the front where the warrior and paladin were muttering strategy.  The rogue was nowhere to be seen.

“If we pull them away from each other, they’ll have less support-” began the blood elf.

“And so will we,” replied the tauren.  “And your girlfriend will have two people to focus her finger-wiggling on instead of just one.”

“She’s not my-”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Hannelore found herself saying.  Irritated at having been brought into the squabble, she pursed her lips and stood straighter.  Gleaming green eyes sparked with hate as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked to the side.  Suddenly the wall and the rack of weapons were very interesting.  Somewhere, Hannelore thought she heard someone saying something, but it was too quiet for her to make out the words.

“Right, well,” continued the bull.  “We gather them up, I’ll crack some heads, you poke them when they’re focused on me, and we’ll move on.  This place is evil and the sun hasn’t stopped moving just because we have.”

The paladin rolled his eyes, then shoved his helmet back onto his head and hefted his sword.  “I still say there’s too many, but it’s your head.  I can take care of myself.”

They glared at each other and then crouched into the ready position as a patrol of vrykul weaponsmiths came around the corner.  Their gutteral words suddenly became intelligible when they saw the trespassers. 

“Now you die!” shouted one and lunged at the tauren warrior.  The other came in close behind, and both realized they were in for quite the fight when a heavy hoof stomped the stone floor and rocked dust from the ceiling.  Even dazed from the blow, they charged on and found themselves facing not two, but four.  One managed a cry to their fellows back at the forges.

Hannelore, enveloping the paladin in a shield before one of the huge hammers came down at him, saw how badly things could turn in an instant.  One of the bearded men looked up from their forge and squinted into the dark hallway from where the shout had come.  He stood up, glanced at his fellows, and took a step forward.  He then sat down and set his chin to his chest.  The others nearby laughed, commented in their rough tongue, and returned to banging steel to anvil.  From the shadows, a slender figure glided across the wall and joined the melee against the vrykul.  The priestess smiled a tight-lipped smile and the rogue glowed briefly under a silent blessing.  The battle raged on without interruption until the five stood over the two corpses and quickly distributed the meager coins found on them.  It would be difficult, but the first step had been made into Utgarde Keep.  It didn’t help that she kept thinking that someone was saying something to her, just out of earshot.

—

Hannelore froze in place, there on the dais of Utgarde Keep.  Hundreds of feet below, there was the constant sound of rushing water crashing against the craggy cliffs of the Howling Fjord.  All around, the cries of the protodrakes and their riders filled the air, blending together to create the illusion of some even more fantastical creature of hate and violence.  The sounds of battle still rang in her sensitive ears, from the clash of weapons on armor to the haughty shouts of the now-dead vrykul, Ingvar.  Nevertheless, Hannelore could swear she had just heard someone whisper her name.  It had been the most malevolent, twisted sound she had ever heard.

“I could use a plaything like you, blood elf,” it continued, haunting her mind with its echoes before the sound ever came.  “You are far from ready, yet.  The potential is within you for great things.  Terrible things.  You have caught my attention with your constant interferances with my works.”  The priestess tried to control a shiver, unsure why she felt such pride at those words.  “Perhaps you will prove yourself worthy to me in time.  I will set you on the path to join me, and you will come to me of your own volition.”  There was frost forming on her upper lip; she could feel it, and could hear the crystals crackling as the moisture froze in the suddenly arctic air.  “Or you will fall, and become a mindless minion to swell my ranks.  I look forward to seeing you again, Hannelore…”

She spun in place, sending the skirts of her robes swirling about her ankles.  She licked her lips, found the frost gone, and prepared a spell.  The gleam of magical energies faded and fell from her fingers as the priestess realized she was alone on the dais with a quickly rotting corpse that still lay bleeding and broken against a column.  She glanced around, faintly glowing emerald eyes searching the lengthening shadows for a sign of the Lich King, Arthas.  It was he that destroyed her city, turned its population into a broken people, and tainted their very lives with his foulness.  He wasn’t there with her, though.  Hannelore’s legs buckled and she dropped to her knees, confused at the tears running down her cheeks.  That voice had been pure evil, but she found herself desperate to hear it declare her worthy…

Not Quite The Same Shared Topic

There’s a shared topic that’s been floating around the blogosphere for a while - What Class Would You Be In RL?

I’d like to modify that slightly and take off the “in RL” portion of the question.

Maybe it’s just the storyteller in me, but I love to insert myself into the books I read, the tv shows I watch, and (of course) the games I play.

If Azeroth were real - I mean, really real, with deaths that stuck and blood and gore and truly suffering people who needed your help, and the “quests” you did truly changed their lives for the better - what class would you be?

Which of the Warcraft classes suits your personality?

Would you be a plate wearing warrior, feeling the blood lust as you charge headlong into rampaging monsters with only your shield and sword to ward you?

Would you be a rogue, stealthily darting through the shadows and lightening the pockets of your enemies before slitting their screamless throats?

Would you feel the rush of fire and ice in your veins as you collected a frostfire bolt in the palm of your hands, ready to be hurled at the nearest villain?

Would you be a shaman, feeling the call of the elements and gaining your strength from earth, lightning, fire, and water?

A mighty paladin, perhaps, hammer crushing your foes even as you heal and strengthen your comrades?

A hunter, with your trusted beast by your side, teamwork mowing down all those who dare cross your path?

Or perhaps a Warlock, steeped in shadow and fire, binding demons to your will?

Priest - either upholding the light and bolstering your companions, or twisted and dark, wielding the power of shadows against your foes?

The possibilities are as endless as the talent trees and races to choose from.

Me?

I would be a tauren druid.

Surprised?

The peacable, earth-loving tauren have always appealed to me. I sometimes spend time in their starting zone just to be there. To hear the deep voices bless me “May the eternal sun shine upon thee.” and “Walk with the Earth mother.”

Beyond that, the druid class itself is one that appeals to me. I’ve always been fascinated with shapeshifting, and animals particularly. To transform into a lithe cat or a soaring crow - these would be wondrous things indeed.

In addition, the role of the druid is versatile - I could heal, but I could just as easily turn feral and cause significant damage. No helpless healer, this.

Why not a Priest, or a Hunter?

It’s true that my favorite classes to play are priest and hunter. But in real life, I would be uncomfortable with the squishiness of the priest, and the dependence upon the Light.

I would enjoy the bond shared between hunter and pet, and I love archery - but it does not suit my personality to be only a fighter. If Azeroth were real, I believe I would be more likely found on the sidelines, healing the wounded than at the front lines, mowing down  Scourge.

And you?

What would YOU be? What path would you choose?

The Adventures of Tayt continue in Barnacles and Pineapples, Part 1.

More hard-hitting direct and analytical reviews of heroic versus family-friendly raiding will have to wait until next week. 

Today: BUNNY EARS.

I would love to tell you about the fun and frollicky time I have had with Noblegarden so far. The brightly colored eggs, the silly rabbits, the jovial ears that suddenly have every level five mage in the area swoop down on me like I was covered in chocolate…

Uh.

But I cannot tell you about these things. I know nothing about them, and have only heard legends of their happenings. Because, in case you did not know, I am a blood elf. Our nobles are the magisters and mage-priests of the broken sunwell. There shall be NO fun near our walls. However, to keep from looking like oppressive zealots that seek only power and glory and the life-sustaining mana-tap, we still allow the peons and little common-folk to ‘hunt for eggs’. But because our people are accustomed to hardships, allow me to explain to you how we have changed this pretty little adventure into something more comfortable and familiar to the Sin’dorei.

First, we have commanded that whenever an egg is discovered, the finder must stop there. You cannot move. Hold your ground and protect it with the tenacity we have instilled in our soldiers to keep our city safe from the unending scourge. Spit expletives at any other seeker that comes near, or you will be shamed for the rest of the week by the fact that THEY TOOK YOUR EGG. Each person is to find their own spot, their own eggs, and when we teleport more eggs into the area, each person will quickly gather their allotted prizes into whatever receptacle is available. I hear some commoners even shove them into their mouth. Wonderful.

Those seen running around will be called out for ‘ninjaing my eggs’ from those who have properly protected their placements. Shouts should ring out across the area for any that come late to the party and are unaware of the magisters’ law. “Find a spot and camp it, everyone gets more eggs!”

As this may seem to be too easy, we have included instructions and the materials with which to turn commoners into rabbits. These small, brightly colored mammals shall be precisely the same size as eggs. This added level of difficulty proves that the Sin’dorei can best any difficulty, and will inflict challenges on ourselves simply to make it more interesting. This is not a game, this is a test of our commoners’ will and abilities, as the sword is hammered in the fire! Those little people who are in the guise of rabbits are challenged to avoid the grabbyhands of those chocolate-blinded crazies looking for chocolate, and the crazies get to be constantly confused why the eggs they shove into their baskets are soft, furry, and squeak “OMYGODLETMEOUTDON’TEATMEEEEEEE” at them.

Reports are already coming in that there have been some casualties, but that’s to be expected. Better to cull them early than to have them someday wind up in a pick up group with me where I have to do it myself.

Cries ring out across the wall dividing the halves of my great city. “Where are the #%*(@ pants?!” “Selling the dress for rabbit ears!” “OMG u just ninjas my egz!” And “This egg is furry and squeaky.”

“DON’T EAT IT!!”

I like to listen for the scream.