Tempered

I'd like you all to examine the below photo quite closely...




Please observe, standing among the "alpha-row" of ultra-important gnomes at the front, the existence of the guild's first gnomish paladin. Yes, after much farming of instances, and praying to the light, and blowing stuff up (this is important to gnomes) Esaelli has managed to metamorphise into a fully fledged dispenser of justice in inquisitor-like (purple) T2 Paladin trappings. Of course, the Unholy enchant he's put on that healing staff is a subtle, understated comment on what he may believe on the state of those human type paladin orders. Still, he looks good, as only a gnome can!

This is obviously far more important than the first-evening kill of some smelly Naga dude with lots of shells. So hurrah!

<Tempered> - Do you want wings with that?

1. Fire is bad
2. You have to not stand in the fire.

That is all...




Using these sneaky tactics, we were able to knock down Archimonde's last defender. They really work!

<Tempered> - So that's how it works....

Good Evening.

Tonight on Tinkertown Gnews, we bring you a shocking, and disturbing exclusive. Be warned, the following report contains imagery which some of you may find offensive.

Late last evening, reports began to circulate northern Kalimdor of a disturbance on Mt. Hyjal. We immediately scrambled to send a reporter to the scene, but unfortunatly, a strange eldritch green shield prevented him from entering the mount until later - by which time the damage was done. Nevertheless, our top wizarding minds are now attempting to decipher the strange coded message encountered by our intrepid agent - something about aborted transfers and capacity. We're as baffled as you are.

Our reporter did manage to finally get past the strange shield, but as we said, the disturbance was over. He brought back a horrific tale of butchered residents, carcasses strewn all around, and the wilful murder of our dear friend and colleague, Kaz'rogal the Tender.

No more will Kaz (as he liked to be called) come to our garden parties, he won't be able to pet the fluffy bunnies with the children, and you can throw out that green tea he was so fond of.

Also, Molly, from Tarren Mill? - your husband, Bob the Landscape Architect, who was working on the Mount... won't be coming home this evening....

<Pause, and sounds of sniffling>

The only evidence we have of the perpetrators of this cruel and malevolent act is this image, captured on Cosmic Central Thaumaturgivision.

Who are they, and who will bring them to justice?



We apologise for the disturbing image of Human Paladins getting their wings out in this report.

<Tempered> - We're Bad (occasionally)

Cheers sounded. Raised voices in a frenzy of jubilation - the cacophony of warriors glad to have survived. Between the cheering group of dwarven priests, and the hunter pack tending to their beasts, Othar sat quietly on a rock at the peak of the hill, breathing deeply. It had been touch and go there for a while.
His clothes were wet - Hells, everyone was soaked through. The very air in this gloomy hole in the bedrock was saturated with damp. What had she said again? "Water is life!"? For Othar, that phrase conjured up images of deep, glacial lakes in Dun Morgh, of icy streams, pregnant with snowmelt, of dark still pools deep within the mountains at Gnomeregan - at least, before the troggs came. The rank, tepid lakes of the Cavern, thick with the filth of the snake-folk, was only a parody of life - much in line with its mistress.

Othar glanced up, casting his eye over the stiffening form of the Coilfang Matriarch. A layer of slime, slowly congealing in the underground heat lent to the stench of decay pervading the cave. Those ever-moving snake heads still moved, denying the truth of death. Othar shuddered, and looked away - at the lake, at the walls, at the group of people gathering around the snake.

So many faces - it was hard to look at one face without remembering all the others who were not present. The dwarven priests, busily tending to the wounded, scattering their blessed water (brewed strongly) across the crowd; the short hunter, sawing off one of those waving head-snakes to make a soup; the indominatable gnomish warrior, resharpening her weapons; and all the others, starting to examine the spoils of victory. So many new faces, so many old faces, and those fallen along the way.

Reaching into his pocket, Othar brought out the vial he had removed from the snake. Containing a tiny amount of clear liquid, this was reason for the struggle. Did the dragon-folk really know the efforts and sacrifices needed to retrieve this little drop of water? How many more groups had they sent out, to their demise? Was it really worth the sacrifice?

The faces of the fallen ran through his mind, as Othar turned the vial in the dim light of the cavern. As the liquid turned in the vial, overlarge for his hand, pinpoints of light sparked within, conveying aspects of depth and possibility, belying the appearance of a simple liquid. As the radiance grew around him, so did Othar's confidence in what might be. With this power recovered from the snakes, there was no telling what aspects of the future were beyond this group of people.

Othar stood, fixing the faces of the group present with the faces of those not. What was, may come again. Those who fell, may return. What is growing can continue to mature, especially with the light of the vials to power it.

Taking a deep breath, Othar moved toward the crowd, satisfied in the light of Possibility.




<Tempered> - Enduring

Progress on the Mount continues, with Anetheron falling to the sustained battering of <Tempered> steel. Certain reporter-gnomes were missing from the encounter, but a stunt-paladin was drafted in and given an Automagic Ultra-Vista-Recombobulator and managed to capture the below scene.




Looks like the vantage point is too high. I vote we cut him off at the knees for next time.

<Tempered> - Stop the press!

Ok, so we've not killed Vashj or Kael yet - let's just get that out of the way at the start. We know. It's on the todo list. But, regardless, with the lifting of the attunements, we decided to poke our heads in to Hyjal Summit to see what it was like.

I'd probably have a better impression if I could actually see what was going on at more than three frames per second, but there were lots of mobs, and they were all bunched up together, and I had the oppertunity to blow them all up together, so it gets a gold star in my book.

Oh, there was some kind of lich dude there too. I kind of lost track of him in between screen refreshes, and when I looked again, he was dead (again).




Yes, I know it looks like a bunch of noobs standing around Felwood, but liches don't leave much in the way of evidence when they are blown up by rampaging hordes of gnomes.

<Tempered> - Regular, or Extra Crispy?

TBC is missing dragons. Or at least, it's missing enough dragons. Oh yeah, plenty of orcs, demons by the boatload, and some other rather bizzare things, but it's kinda low on the old dragons. Back in the good old days, when men were rather silly looking, and gnomes ruled the world (or has that changed at all?) you knew that the dragons were the bad guys, and we had tons of them all crammed into a zone with the biggest baddest guy at the top.

But TBC is about snakes, and ogreythings, and little pansy elves, and is definitely lacking on the big'n'scalys - and the ones that are actually there are more skelly than scaly. So it was good to find a nasty fiery thingy - almost retro. We were only missing piling on 500 fire res to really get a throwback feeling.




I've even taken this screenshot in as blocky and rubbish format as possible to get that whole "C64 in 16 colours" feeling. It's not cos my graphics card sucks. Honest.

<Tempered> - Feeling nostalgic

After aiming most of our collective raid effort at Vashj over the last few weeks, I guess some people decided they needed a change of scenery.

So, taking advantage of the rare absence of a certain gnome, who was busily wrestling with his zapmatic data partions at the time, they thought it'd be a great idea to go and try a previously untried boss while he wasn't there. So off they went, to the great pink palace in the sky, and zoomed off down the corridor toward where Solarian was lurking. Two attempts later, she resembled a great smoking piece of armour on the floor, and the guys were left waiting for the next phase to come...



Lads, seriously - if ye're going to kill a boss without me, might as well take some time and enjoy it, instead of going and two shotting it...

No patience, these youngsters...

<Tempered> - /yawn

We've spent so much of our raid time snuggled up in nice comfy instances, chatting with the various bosses and "equally interesting yet non-epic-dropping non-boss" designated denizens, that one might have confronted us with being somewhat reluctant to venture outside.
Indeed, the weather is not all it could be, and night-elf ears are terribly prone to wind-chafe, and of course those ghastly netherdrakes are everywhere, with their noise and huge wings blocking the view (and don't mention the smell - those things poo everywhere), so one could hardly blame us for staying inside.

However, one must venture out every now and again, even if it's just to pop to the pub or pick up some groceries. As we passed through the Hellfire and Shadowmoon neighbourhoods, the local rabble popped out, shouting and swearing all over the place - so with ASBOs in hand, we decided to take matters in hand and sort them out.




Kazzak and Doomwalker suitably chastened, we finally got to the pub for a celebratory Darkmoon Reserve.




<Tempered> - You call that a line-up?

The Tempered blitz of SSC continues with the 3rd first kill in as many raids. Returning to Hydross after a good 6 weeks of leaving him to the side, just for a little re-aquaintance, the Tempered meat-grinder had him decomposed to his constituent elements within half an hour.

Gather them in, and sweep them up - SSC is clean, the bridge is open, and a certain Lady Vashj awaits.




<Tempered> - Going fast enough to give me Writer's Block

There are many things that are beyond comprehension in the Warcraft world. Why doesn't Netherstorm float apart? Why do instance guards conveniently hang around in groups of twos and threes, waiting to be pulled? Why the hell haven't they finished that bridge in Redridge yet?

Our steady progress in SSC however, is perfectly fathomable, due to 2 parts awesomeness, a pinch of dedication and a dash of sheer good looks (from the gnome department). Karathress hitting the floor makes it 4/6 for <Tempered>, and with some legwork put in on Hydross already, the big blob's days can be counted rather quickly.




After the work put in on Leotheras, Karathress was almost anticlimactic, going down "not with a bang, but a whimper". Still, we won't complain, but temper our resolve toward the next target.

<Tempered> - Next!

If there's any encounter that makes you want to go out and spend a wad of cash on a new computer, it's the Leotheras encounter. We've come to the conclusion that the textures in the room are doing something funky, or it's suffering from Razorgore 1.8 syndrome - you know the stage where the graphics engine is keeping track of all seventy four squillion whelps in the suppression room while you're trying to concentrate on spawning orcs.
Anyway - it's not only irritating, it's irritating in slow-motion at 3-9 fps.

Having said that - we did come back and kick his teeth in, even with this handicap - which felt good, and relieved some aggression. Performance and responsiveness was so much better in Karathress' room. There's just something funky about Leo, I think.



Yes, I know the photo's a little grainy, but that's what you get when vid quality is floored. And I hate people with 60 fps when I have 4-5. I'll get ye yet...

<Tem-per-ed> - Gank-ing st-uff even wit-h low F-P-S

The less said about this the better.
Who had the bright idea of putting everyone's least favourite race in a raid dungeon? No, I'm not reffering to night-elves (although the title does slightly resemble the noise they make when sleeping) but to those most irritating of ichthyoids, the MURLOCS.....

Aaaaargh!

Oh well - they go squish nicely.

Anyway, squish they did indeed, along with the King of Bubble Flatulence himself - no doubt due to the pulling expertise of Zijel, who gave "Totem Stomping" an entirely new meaning.




Also, have to love those gnomeification goggles!

<Tempered> In your caves, stompin your totems!

Fishing!
I just don't understand the people who think that spending a day out in the pouring rain with a soggy newspaper and a can of reheated beans, chucking a plastic bobber into a scum-covered river full of radioactive fish and old shopping trolleys can be fun. But anyway, I decided I'd give it a go - live the experience and stuff. It might even be relaxing.

So there I was. I had a bucket of Blackened Basilisk to munch on, I had my latest issue of the Gadgetzan Times and Gnomergan Gnews. I had my lucky red hat, my Fishing Chair to keep me comfortable, and just in case of emergencies, I had an X-52 Rocket Helmet in case I fell in. Hell, I even swapped this idiot orphan boy a few eels for Seth's Graphite Fishing Pole - hehe sucker!

I was ready for a nice relaxing evening!

Some things just never go to plan. Giant Kraken surfacing from the deeps, and trying to munch their way through everything in sight, is not my idea of relaxing. I mean - these things spit, and you don't want to get in the way of that, let me tell you. The stains take forever to get out!

Anyway, end result pictured below, cos it really was that big. And the smell was terrible. I'm never fishing again.



<Tempered> Fishing: 1/375

... your death only adds to our progress!

Not really a whole lot to say about this one. We came, we saw, we spread out in a big circle, we did the hokey pokey. That was what it was all about.

Jury's out on where our travels will take us next. Will we continue in the pink palace of elfiness? Will we branch out into the deep dank caverns to swim with the fishies? Tune in next time, same bat-time, same bat-channel.




<Tempered> - Exterminate!

... and the livin' is easy...
Folks are jumpin'
And ol' Maggie just died..

He's kinda rich..
not really good loooooo-kin'
Hush, stop your snarlin'
Nooooowhere to hide...




After an extended summer break with most people away at one point or other, we returned to the deep parts of HFC this evening. After a few "getting to know you" tries, a pretty much flawless execution left Magtheridon in the dirt and <Tempered> pointing and laughing at him.

It feels good to be in this situation again, much like this time last year, when an extended period of summer downtime was met with a revitalised raiding force, ready to get back in the dungeons and have some fun. Some new faces, some old faces - some things change, but some other things never do.

<Tempered> - Summer's just heating up.

The worst thing about writing up front page news is that some days, nothing comes into your head. And the end result sucks.

Well, this one sucked, so it got nuked.

If you're feeling short changed by the lack of inspirational waffle, I suggest you all post random rubbish in the comment section.

Oh look, there's Gruul. He's dead and stuff




<Tempered> - Disclamer here

From the bottom of the valley, the view is stark. Withered ivy clings, crone-like, to the grey walls of the tower - age-pitted walls, broken and battered from centuries of weathered neglect. The tower dominates the skyline, dwarfing even the hills surrounding it - as if in some way the very landscape itself shrinks away from the tower and it's forboding History.

Glancing back, the door swings closed, seemingly of its own accord. The final echos of our footsteps fade - the tower is empty. The sense of forbidding should be diminishing, now that the halls are free from the ghostly denizens, but for some reason, the tower maintains its dignity. Perhaps the memories of long-ago great occurances are simply too much, for one small band of travellers to purge. Time will tell.

-----------------------------------

With Netherspite down, Karazhan is now clear. Thanks for the fun folks.



<Tempered> - Moving on

After the dizzying heights of the pinnacle of Karazhan, vertigo was assuaged as 10 brave companions ventured to the Master's Terrace, on the stable's roof.
There, a mighty being from ages past was brought forth by an ancient relic, fearsome in its burning majesty, dark power emanating from its otherwise vacant eye sockets.

Oh, tis but a jolly dragon - we can kill those...



The tower is almost pacified - just one dragon remaining.

<Tempered> - just call 555-KEEL-DRAGON

Da King is dead! He well smashed. We be King of all Ogres now. Smash stuff good.

Gruul who? We see if Gruul talk smack when Tempered give him da beatdown!





<Tempered> - RAWR! SMASH!

One of the best things about Blackwing Lair was the feeling of scale. You'd start down in the lava filled depths, next to the prisons and mines of Blackrock Mountain, and move steadily upward, past the so called Spire-Throne of Drakkisath, to the peak of the mountain. There, standing over the piece of dragon meat that was Nefarion, you could cast your eyes over Searing Gorge, and Burning Steppes, while planning how to barbeque that big sucker...

I always hated the fact that you couldn't jump off though. Load up on Light Feathers and slowfall-spam your way to Stormwind...

Alas, they still haven't address this concern, as one can't jump off the top of Karazhan either! I must write a stern letter.

Anyway, Team Guybrush did us proud at the end of last save, killing both Illhoof and Malchazzar at the first save. Team LeChuck again needs to play a bit of catch up, but what's life without a little competition...






Not sure what that money pouch is doing in the kill-shot though - sheesh, can't get the staff these days.

Netherspite and Nightbane remain - time to dig out those old dragon-slaying gloves gathering dust back in the old guild hall...

<Tempered> - Yarr!

With Aran proving grumpy last week, it was only this week that Teams Asterix and Obelix had some attempts further up the tower. However, both teams proved up to the challenges of the Gamesman's Hall, proving the best efforts of an ancient hero/villain are no match for Tempered Teams based on indominatable Gauls.

Onward and upward!



<Tempered> -  Kasparov who?

People just have no manners these days. Imagine you're running quite nicely through Karazhan, mucking out the stables, setting the dinner table, dealing with the guests etc. Maybe you've taken some extra work on in polishing the statues, and talking to the patrolling guards. You've scrubbed up the backstage area, applauded at the show and climbed bajillions of steps. You've even tidied up the books lying around on the floor.
Well, that sounds like a lot of work, so how about a nice relaxing read in the library.

Sounds good, but Noooooo! There's a big ignorant rude ghost in the middle, disturbing the peace and quiet by chucking great big fire stuff, and shouting his head off. Really - they didn't do that in my day, let me tell you!

Back when I were a lad, libraries were the place of decorum and scholarly pursuit. Ye'd speak in hushed whispers for fear of the matronly old librarian coming down and clocking you one around the ear, and you'd treat the books with the respect of the ages (unless they were the magazines on the high shelf that got stuffed under your jumper). There was none of this shouting lark, that's for sure. And we had to walk 20 miles to get there, and 30 miles back. Uphill both ways. Through the driving rain, hail and snow. Dressed in Sackcloth...

I tell ye - kids have it easy now, and no upbringin'!

Anyway - we had to make him dead to shut him up.




Aran dead to Team Minsc - Team Boo needs to play catch up...

<Tempered> - Go for the eyes Boo! Go for the eyes..

Shining loots this stage with it brings;
The curtain of shame will not show his head.
Go hence, Curator awaits before many things;
Some shall be smote down, and some punishèd;
For never was a boss of more handy dough
Than this of Julianne and her Romulo.



<Tempered> - Lyrical Tragedy

You know, perception is a funny thing. It's all a matter of perspective really. As one gets older and (hopefully) wiser, one gets to realise that certain things can become less important.

Take "facts" for example. Ok, one can look at the dictionary definitions and take comfort from that - but in reality, "facts" can sometimes turn out as, well, more like interpretations on a limited set of information.

Yes, yes, Team Snarf may have "technically" killed the Curator before Team Cringer, but that incidental detail is really lost in the grand scheme of Publicity - after all, is it not far more important to let the world know, and not get bogged down in these piddly little details?! It's a matter of perspective!

Curator down - Aran's next.



<Tempered> - "Perspecting" for all their worth.