standing at the back in my sissy robe

June 10, 2009

and for my pains a world of sighs

Filed under: Bitchin 'n' Moanin,FailPUG,UR Doing It Wrong — Tamarind @ 1:40 pm

In an effort to shed The Curse of Utgarde Keep, we tried to run AN last night instead.

Mistake.

There were various issues (related to the other players, of course, goes without saying) but our most ignominious wipe occurred when I got webbed.  The chain of events went something like this.

I noticed I was getting webbed.  Nobody seemed to care.  Perhaps they hadn’t noticed…

/p I’m kind of webbed, guys.

Nope.  Not interested.  Maybe they didn’t see it, I thought charitably…

/s Webbed here!

Hello?  Anybody home?

/s Help!  I’m webbed!  Get me out!

Oh look, I can’t heal, the tank is dead.

Oh look, I’m dead too.

All aboard the deadbus.

Aaaand that would be a wipe then.

Me: That was slightly sub-optimal.

DPS: Yeah, let’s hope the healer doesn’t get webbed this time.

Me: Um, yes, we could hope.  Or we could maybe do something about it.

Needless to say, things did not improve from there.

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May 25, 2009

Real Men Wear Purple

I should probably stop starting WoW Blogs because they always follow the same doomed pattern:

1)    I have an amusingly unfortunate PUG experience (which are, of course, two a copper piece in WoW)

2)    I think “Gosh, I am so profoundly annoyed by this, I must blog about it because that will make me feel in some way that experience was not an enormous waste of my time”

3)    I blog about it and feel vaguely better, as if I Have Achieved Something

4)    I make another related blog post that is not quite as good as the first one

5)    I run out of things to blog about

So here I am in making a valiant attempt to save this blog from the same tragic fate by writing a meta post about the fact I always give up on WoW blogs.

For the record, since I’m being meta and scratting around for content, the name of this blog was inspired by a catastrophoPUG.  The definitive kind, you know, the cappuvino of PUGS, the kind of the PUG you’re still talking incredulously about weeks and months after it happened … or maybe you’re taking it too personally.

I think it was Mara.  Team Us comprised a cow drood who was, of course, absolutely lovely, a hunter who later apologised and instanced with us again, my pocket tank (no healer should travel without one) and a troll shaman who, well…

Me: Could you let the tank pull, please?

Shaman: Why, what’re you gonna do about it?

Me: …

Shaman: [Stream of abuse]

And as part of the [stream of abuse], which included the fervent wish that the tank get cancer and die (yes, I know, he was 12 and probably French), the Shaman turned on me and accused me of not pulling my weight in the group because I was just “standing there at the back in my sissy robe.”

We were, of course, in the process of kicking him at this point but his hilarious accolade has remained with me ever since.  I am, as it happens, currently resplendent in ornate purple but I don’t think it makes me any less of a man, thank you so very much.

I know I whinged semi-frivolously about this in my previous post but I genuinely believe that if you aren’t used to different classes or you spend all your time in solo play you don’t realise that healing actually involves somebody doing something, and that it’s relatively important that they do so in the most efficient and effective way possible.  I’ve mentioned “hey, you hybrid class, why don’t you off-heal when the full healer takes a mana break” but sometimes I get asked to off-DPS while healing, which I really hate.   Not only is my DPS something that orcish orphans mock in the street but it’s a horribly inefficient use of my mana, to say nothing of the fact that it’s mana I could need at any moment if something goes wrong.  Of course trying to explain this in a middle of an instance is never guaranteed to make you popular and usually I’ll be typing away eloquently only to discover the tank has over-pulled and everybody is busy getting deaded.  But even assuming I do manage to get my “look I’d rather not and here’s why” response out, people tend to believe it’s just further evidence that I’m standing at the back in the my sissy robe, refusing to pull my weight.

I suppose it comes back to superstitious play but I sometimes think people assume that a healer is not a person but a kind of weird totemic device that keeps you alive if you just happen to stand in its vicinity.

May 20, 2009

there’s only one thing worse…

Filed under: Bitchin 'n' Moanin,FailPUG,UR Doing It Wrong — Tamarind @ 12:20 pm

…than a bad instance run and that’s half a bad instance run.

I was grinding my tradeskills and minding my own business the other day when the following (not atypical) whispered conversation occurred:

T’other guy: Dude, fancy healing UK?

Me: I’m in Kargath and slightly ungeared.

T’other guy: Please man, it doesn’t matter, you’re our last hope.  Please mate, please.

Me: Oh all right then.

Only with less literacy on his part, of course.

The inevitable sinking feeling sets in when it soon becomes apparent that nobody is willing to summon.  Maybe I’m old fashioned  but I think being in a position to summon the priest whose arm you have so recently twisted is basic good manners.  Of course, as ever, in every parcel of dicks there’s also a prince.   And, again as ever, in this instance it was the cow-drood who was standing politely by the stone awaiting a second.  In the vaccuum of volunteering that followed, I ended up making the journey myself, being harrassed regularly en route for my ETA by the other members of the “team.”

The sinking feeling became positively Titanic when, two pulls in, the tank – a preppy paladin (oh aren’t they always?) – complained he wasn’t leader (W8 i’m tank) and, on being handed leadership, decided to exercise his leaderly authority by not marking.  Oh sigh, sigh, a world of sighs. Furthermore, his opening conversational gambit was not what you might call encouraging:

Him: u have shite mana 4 a holy

Me: Why thank you.

Him: u shud have like 10k

Me: I’m slightly undergeared

Him: y u undergeared

Me: I’ve been questing in Nagrand, so I don’t have much Northrend gear yet.

Him: lol  noob

Me: I like Nagrand.  It’s cool.

Him: lol  U still have shit mana.

Me: I think you’ll find it’s what I do with it that counts.

That was probably the point I should have fucked off but a vague sense of loyalty to the 2 not blisteringly incompetant DKs and the thoroughly sensible cow-drood induced me to put my priestly hissy fit on hold. Unfortunately, as well as being annoying, egotistically (and, as we shall come to later, a really terrible tank), the paladin also seemed to be suffering what I can only presume to be a sad case of amnesia.  On my next mana break, he observed sagely:

Him: U have shite mana.

Me (with a feeling of crushing deja vu): Well you haven’t died yet.

Him: U shud have like 10k

Me: I know what’ll help.  I’ll heal you less.

I used to work for a telephone helpline.  No, not that sort of helpline.  A mental health thing.  Anyway, as I’m sure is probably the case with most volunteer run telephone services, we would occasionally receive abusive or otherwise obscene calls.  The blatant ones (“I want to stick my Part A into your Slot B”) were easy enough to deal with because you just hung up.  But you would occasionally get manipulative callers who would make a big deal of having a genuine problelm, yet their call would always hover just on the verge of falling into obviously abusive.  It was incredibly difficult to hang up on such callers because there was always an uncertainty in your  mind.  What if this was a genuine caller?  What if you were just being over-sensitive?  Usually in such cases, you would enlist another volunteer, either to hang up for you, or support you in your decision to label the call as abusive and hang up.

The reason I mention this is because bad PUGs are like this.  Unless there’s actually somebody next to say “Dude, that group is fucked, that guy is a wanker” you’re likely to put it down to yourself and cling on grimly on the off-chance it’ll get better and you’re just being over-sensitive.

So I clung.  And it was grim.

And I should have hung up left the group. Trouble came when we encountered the first boss.  Our Noble Leader decided that one of the DKs was going to off-tank the ads.

Strange … strategy … for … a … paladin … with … consecretate.

Cut  a long story short: we all died except the fucking paladin.  And the only reason he survived was beacuse the cow-drood in-combat rezzed me like the star he was and I managed to get a few major heals off before I died again, and got the paladin back up to full with a few HOTs on him thanks to Spirit of Redemption.

Our Gracious Leader: I rock!  I’m awesome!  I’m the best thing ever.  I rock, you guys sucked, you all died, I rocked.  I’m so awesome. Oh yeah. [splatter]

(Words to that affect, anyway.  The splatter is to represent the bukkake-like culmination of the verbal wanking).

Now call me grumpy (but not Sneezy, Sleep, Dopey, Doc, Bashful and certainly not Happy) but I think if your entire party wipes except you, and you’re the tank, UR DOIN IT WRONG. The same thing happened on the next Boss fight … after which The Valiant Hero realised he was out of time and fucked off leaving us halfway through UK without a tank. What a great guy.

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