I was going to just stop blogging when I decided to reroll as Horde, but the recent announcement of upcoming faction swaps has renewed my desire to write about Xanthelei. So, the Unbroken story below is going to be rewritten slightly and become the launching point of a story arc for him. The new story, as well as posts about my new server and character, can be found at Out Of Range.

“Where is he? When I heard of the disaster at Ulduar, I- Oh my.”

The he in question would be me, unfortunately. I was stretched out on a cot, looking like an Ethereal due to bandages binding my many wounds. My left arm hung shattered in a sling, my headplate and right eye wrapped tightly to prevent further damage from occurring. Nearby, my armor lay in a shattered heap along with my sundered crossbow. They never did find my polearm, likely because I dropped it in my haste to remain alive. Alvar’s body had remained behind… along with my friends’.

Jaina crouched next to me and rested a concerned and gentle hand on my good arm. “Xanthelei of the Hand. Tell me what happened, please.” I didn’t want to. I never wanted to remember anything from that thrice-cursed tomb known as Ulduar. But her eyes were dark pools of care and grief, and I found myself lost in them. If I never told anyone else on the face of Azeroth, I would tell this woman.

So I did. As if in a trance, I told her of our victories over the first guardians and our hard-fought battles in the Antechamber. I spoke of the madness that had enveloped the Keepers of Ulduar; Mimiron, Freya, Thorim, and Hodir, all raving mad and enthralled by the Old God. Then began the whispers.

They were small at first. Just slight tuggings on the edge of ones consciousness. One of our Druids had commented on it first, and we all agreed we’d been “hearing” disturbing comments. Perhaps the worst were those that seemed to come from our own minds, answering the strange voice. Even the Paladins and Priests of the Light itself were becoming unnerved. After a while, though, the voices became more persistent. They demanded things, awful things that, even in my trance, I could not repeat or even remember.

When we had finally found General Vezax, the group was so demoralized it became a rout immediately.

I didn’t remember how I’d escaped. I did recall seeing my friends fall, one by one, as we retreated away from the General and his god. Some corner of my mind still refused to acknowledge the memory of Alvar, my closest friend and dearest companion of 60 seasons, stumbling and finally collapsing. I didn’t think I would ever forgive myself for leaving him then. I knew he would not have left me.

I broke into heavy sobs at this thought, and turned to hide my face from the Lady. “No more,” I begged softly. “It happened, and I escaped, and please, please don’t make me speak of it anymore.”

“Alright, Xanthelei.” She seemed to want to say more, but instead just shook her head and turned away. I vaguely heard her voice giving orders to my caretakers, but I was already slipping into a deep, dark, and restless sleep, ever plagued by my experiences in Ulduar’s pit.

.:~:.

I woke to find myself beneath the singing crystals of the Exodar’s Vault of Lights. A small Paladin, likely still in training, smiled at me as I sat up and bid me to wait while she fetched someone. After a moment, I decided I much preferred laying to sitting, and set myself back down. My eyes were closed when my caretaker arrived.

“It is not like you to sleep so, young one. It has been two weeks since you arrived here,” came the measured voice of a Krokul. After a moment, I recognized it to be the Master Shaman Nobundo. “This is a rare gift, Elder, to be cared for by the leader of the Shaman,” I replied, opening my good eye to gaze up at him. I tried to smile, but knew he wasn’t fooled. I also knew he wouldn’t cause me grief by saying so.

“You are a hero of our people, Xanthelei. And you have been dealt a great blow the past month. I did not think you would mind my tending to you.”

“Not at all, Elder. You know I hold your kind in the highest respect.” He didn’t reply, but instead busied himself with the changing of my bandages. Any lesser wounds had already been healed; the rest would require time and rest to cure. And perhaps some never would.

Nobundo smiled as he steeped herbs over a small flame, and we spoke of many things – everything but the past month, in fact, was open for debate. He told me of how the Hand of Argus was having troubles again on Bloodmyst, of the inoculation and neutralization taking place across Azuremyst. He spoke of happenings within the city, Velen’s constant visions and minor squabbles among those who had once been considered nobility. It was a long while before we ran out of topics to talk about.

Finally he asked the question I knew he would.

“What will you do now, child?” I sighed.

“I do not know. I can never again be a Hunter of the Hand, but that is all I know for certain these days.”

Nobundo raised a brow at me. “Why can this not be, Xanthelei? You are one of our best, and the profession is well established as a respectable path among our people.”

“I left my companion to be devoured by that god, Elder,” I cried, the pain in my heart flaring again. “Like a child, I ran while my friends were slaughtered, but worse than even that, I left half of my being to suffer before death. I cannot forgive myself, so don’t even try to make me, Nobundo. And I will never again travel with a companion. Alvar-” I choked on his name, and imagined his great white figure as it padded through the snows of Northrend; I saw him in the heat of battle, seeming as a wraith to our enemies and a solid cornerstone to me; I could still hear his purr, and feel the warmth of his ghostly presence as we rested in a tavern somewhere. It was more than I could bear, to think he would never again come when I called. “I will never forgive myself,” I whispered again, and let the hot tears come.

Nobundo said nothing, but gave me the tea he had been steeping. I drank more out of politeness than thirst, and he laid a hand on my wounded head. “I will ask our ancestors to help you heal, then. For now, you must rest. The future is long and ever present, my child. Do not rush to meet it now.” He left, and I laid my head down to dream.

.:~:.

A mountaintop, flat and open to the elements, with a small campfire in the center of the plateau. I am sitting before the flame, but it does not warm me. Everything seems… different. Wrong. As if someone has pulled a cloth across the sun.

I find I am not alone, as I thought before. Four figures have joined me at the fire now, and another seems to linger nearby. I study the four I can see; they are robed, their faces hidden under hoods, and each carries a talisman of some unknown significance. The presence I can feel yet not see is even less understandable, and yet it is very familiar to me. It is a long while before anyone speaks.

“You have seen much,” comments one of the hooded figures.

“You have suffered much more,” adds a second with much grief in his voice.

“Have you the courage to continue in this life?” a third rumbles.

“Or will you give up and join your fallen friends?” the fourth asks. I bristle at the last speaker’s obvious contempt for me.

“Tell me then, stranger,” I begin, “would you not have done the same as I, when faced with the might of an Old God? Or would you have stayed, become insane and a pawn to the devouring dark of its mind?”

“That is not the true question, what any of us would have done,” the third replies. “What has been done cannot be undone; but the future has yet to begin.”

“You speak in riddles, no matter the truth behind them.” I sigh. “What is the question, then?”

“What will you do?” asks the first speaker. I think for a moment before shrugging helplessly.

“I do not know. I have no calling now. Or if I do, I hear not the voice.”

::Do you not hear, or are you not listening?:: asks the voice of a Naaru in my head. I take comfort in the fact that a being of pure Light would still deign to speak to me.

“Perhaps I am not listening, Bright One. My soul has been taxed, and I am weary of callings.” I pause a moment and tilt my head as I regard my companions. In a moment, the blind is lifted from the sun and I can see clearly, and name them. “Shall I consider this an honor, to be interrogated in my dreams by the four Elements and a Naaru?” The second speaker, Water’s avatar, chuckles. “We are here at the request of Nobundo, Hunter.”

“He is concerned for your well-being,” adds the image of Earth. I nod, remembering the Shaman’s blessing before my sleep. “That must be what the tea was for,” I muse. “There is a calling for me, then? I cannot continue down the path of the Hunter. What other options are there for me? I have never been very good at swinging swords, or casting spells.”

::Such things, you can learn.::

“Both the Light and the Elements accept you as you are. But the decision,” Fire adds with a finger wagging at me, “is yours alone.”

.:~:.

It was two months before I was fully healed, but my decision was made long before then. Once Nobundo deemed me fit enough to begin training, I made my way to the survivor camp in the Ammen Vale. It had been here I first awoke to find our ship crashed and our escape foiled by the Blood Elves under Kael’thas’ command, and where I first learned to hate the fair skinned waifs. Aurelon was still there, helping to train young Paladins in the way of the light while directing their efforts to cleansing the fields of our crystals’ taint.

Nearly three months after I had witnessed all my friends – everyone I knew save my sister – perish in the maw of a god of death, I gave myself entirely to the Light and began my training.

Suramar keeps calling to me, but sadly it’s just not fun playing Xanthelei anymore. Yet at the same time, I’m finding Revn fun to level (despite being ganked in Hillsbrad). Still, I think it’s noteworthy when you get four achievements from a single Heroic run, yes?Would you believe all I did was get on to check the mail on Xanth? One of our Pally tanks immediately whispered me to see if I wanted to DPS a Heroic Halls of Lightning. What could I say but “Sure”?

Another thing I find interesting is the fact I gain no enjoyment from playing any of my Suramar alts. No idea why, it’s not much different from leveling Revn. *shrug*

The forest trolls have been encroaching on Elven lands almost since the founding of Quel’thalas. In what is now the Ghostlands, the Shadowpine of Zeb’Sora and Zeb’Nowa particularly have been a thorn in Dame Auriferous’ side. They’ve been raiding the Farstrider Enclave’s supplies, trapping and torturing our scouts, and being a general nuisance. The Dame has decided to put out a bounty for the adventuring types; 6 silver pieces for 6 Shadowpine ears. I figure at 2 silver per troll, the trip is well worth my time. What I didn’t realize, however, is just how bulky these trolls are.

I’ve been sniping at them for a few hours now, and have found I’m lucky to fell them with three arrows. The damned beasts must have moved their hearts to frustrate me, because I’ve had to take to puncturing lungs for sure kills instead. Now, hidden behind a tree, I watch them and wait for another chance to pick one off. Unfortunately, I am not a Rogue, and my hiding skills are sub par at best – it’s not long before I’m spotted by a Catlord. “Stoosh!” he yells, sending his ghostclaw bounding at me and catching the attention of a Hexxer, who also heads in my general direction. I loose a silent curse and dive to the right, only to find myself face to face with a large white tortoise. Having one’s nose snapped off of one’s face before death by gutting has to be the most ignoble way I can think of to die.

Well, short of at the hands of a Gnomish warrior.

I push myself into a crouch against the wall of a nearby hut and draw my sword to parry the claws of the lynx as it pounces. I kick it back and follow with a slash, scoring an ear as the Hexxer lays a curse on my soul. I glance at the turtle to reassure myself he hasn’t joined the fray yet and and notice a rope tied around his neck secured to their meat rack. No wonder my ears are still attached to my head – he’s bound for the stewpot.

“I’ll help you if you help me, friend,” I pant, barely dodging another swipe from the cat. He leans against the rope and snaps his jaws as the lynx finds a seat on my stomach. “Good enough for me!” The rope gives way beneath my blade, and the tortoise leaps away from the meat rack into the side of the lynx, knocking it off me. Now freed from the very real danger of claws in my gut, I drop my sword and notch an arrow. It sings through the air into the right eye of the caster, and he crumples into a green pile where he stands. Why was I not trying for head shots earlier? Annoyed, I turn to the battle between my new turtle friend and the Catlord, now frenzied by the loss of his companion. Notching another arrow to my bow, I chant a cantrip before letting it fly into the center of the troll’s back. He roars in pain as the arcane energy spreads through his muscles before another arrow joins the first to silence him forever. The battle is won, and I’m not dead. It takes a moment for this to fully sink in.

And now I find myself facing an injured tortise that saved my life in return for my saving his. Without a second thought, I kneel beside him and, pulling the linen bandages I had been stockpiling from my pack, begin to bind the wounds. I reflect on the words of Halthenis as he taught me how to mend the wounds of a companion animal. “Sometimes, the Taming spell isn’t needed, Revenan. A simple gesture of goodwill, a caring touch, or a common foe have been known to bind a wild beast to a Hunter more assuredly than the strongest spell devised.”

“Don’t call me Revenan, Halthenis. I am Revn now, you know that,” I had retorted. But I asked anyway, “What do you do, then? The beast just follows you around whether you want it to or not?”

“Often. I wouldn’t fight it, though. Consider yourself blessed, instead. It’s chosen you, rather than being chosen by you. That’s a high honor, don’t you think?”

Even at the time, I’d had to agree. With the wounds bound, I leaned back on my haunches and considered the turtle. “We have a dilemma, my friend,” I murmured. “You need the bandages to stay put for a few days, but if you simply return to the waters they will fall off. Likewise, I am not as almighty as I had thought by myself. However, I believe I have a solution to both problems.” I reach in my pack again and pull out a small loaf of bread, and offer a peice to the turtle. “You are welcome to travel with me, at least for a time. Once your wounds are healed, you may return to your pond, or continue on with me.” He munches contentedly on the hunk of bread and blinks slowly at me. I chuckle.

“Very well. Follow if you will. I am going to find a safer place to eat.” He follows of course. He knows I have food now, and most animals are driven by their stomach as much as by their brains. “I think a trollish name would fit you. What would you say to Utakku?” He must not mind, since he’s trying vainly to reach my pack as we walk, and I grin down at him. “Utakku it is, friend. I hope you stick around a while.”

The Argent Tourney grounds were a sight to behold. Colorful tents stood in every direction while heroes of the Horde and the Alliance joined in mock battles to test their might and skill in mounted combat. In the middle of it all, the arena was being constructed, though it was still just bare wood and foundations. And near one of the food vendors, Xanthelei, Hunter of the Hand, was strolling down the lane and enjoying the short reprieve from war.

He’d tried the mounted battles, but found them unenjoyable. With a quip about shooting things in the face, he’d waved off his guild mates’ attempts to get him back in the saddle and simply watched as they won match after match, eventually becoming Champions for their respective cities. And this was just fine for him.

But today, the usually cheerful atmosphere wouldn’t last. Just before Xanth could hand over coin for his spiced mead, the warning horns sounded at the southern edge of the camp. He was there in moments.

“What is it?” Xanth called as his gryphon Steelfeather touched down next to the Argent guards. One of them pointed to a dark mass up the hill.

“Scourge,” the High Elf replied, almost spitting the word. “They’re coming for us, but there’s also a Blood Elf squire out there. We need someone to find him before the Scourge and bring him back, while we fend off the assault here.” Xanth glanced around as his guild mates landed nearby and nodded. “We can do it. Just keep the Tourney safe.” He explained the situation as they climbed, and together they began searching the oncoming stampede for the boy. As luck would have it, Tyran, the guild’s best Paladin tank, found the boy first, and cleared the ground with a Consecration. Scourge crumbled as the others landed to begin the fight. Yvonne the Priest and Dorkan the Death Knight began throwing spells and steel as Xanth dove to meet them.

“Xanthelei, these are close quarters for you. Take the boy back to the grounds for treatment,” ordered Tyran between swings. Xanth nodded and scooped the frightened boy up, making small soothing noises at him. Even knowing this child would someday grow into another of his enemies, he urged Steelfeather to fly as fast as possible, over the jagged peaks rather than around them – anything to save a few precious seconds that could mean life or death for the boy. He flew past the Scourge lines, over the heads of the defending Argent Crusade peacekeepers and various champions who’d joined the fight, and directly into the Horde tent, dismounting as the guards rushed him. He held out the battered child to be taken for healing, then led his gryphon back out the door.

Before the two could take off again, a retainer for one of the Horde champions rushed out of the tent, grunting at him in Orcish. Realizing the Draenei couldn’t understand any of it, he uttered an obvious swear word and nearly jerked an Argent Crusader off her feet as she ran past. Xanth hesitated, wondering what this could be about, and watched as the anger melted from the Crusader’s face, settling into wide-eyed fear.

Xanth frowned. “What is the matter, ma’am? I don’t have much time,” he questioned, and she turned to face him. “He says there is a civilian out there, in the Scourge, alone. He-” She paused as the Orc grunted at her again, then nodded. “He said the mother of the boy you just rescued is out there still. He wants to ask you to find her and bring her here.” Xanth sighed inwardly, but just nodded and tapped Steelfeather’s shoulder, sending them into the skies. “First I save someone who will grow up to swing a blade at me, and now I’m off to save the boy’s mother, who is likely to have already done so. I’m going soft, Steel.” Steelfeather just cooed and flew on. “Let’s pick up Alvar. I’m sure we’ll be fighting more Scourge.”

It was a short detour to the Alliance tent, and in moments they were airborne again, with Alvar perched precariously behind Xanth on the saddle. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best that could be done with so little time. After a few minutes of circling the Scourge staging grounds, Xanth was about ready to give up the search when he noticed a small rocky outcropping near the western edge of the grounds. He nudged his mount toward it and, sure as the Exodar will never fly again, he saw her, Smiting any Scourge that managed to crawl up the rock.

They decended with a yell, Xanthelei and his ghostly feline, and began hacking through the scourge to the base of the rock. He shouted an order to Steelfeather to let the lady mount, and the gryphon grudgingly landed on the rock, just out of Scourge reach. The Blood Elf watched Xanth hack through undead with a dazed look, finally coming to her senses when he yelled at her to “get on the damned bird and get out of here!” She did so, and watched her rescuers fade into the distance as Steelfeather delivered her to safety.

It was an hour before Tyron, Yvonne and Dorkan found their friend in a small sea of dead Scourge. Alvar had succumbed to his wounds long before Xanthelei, and was no more. The Hunter himself was barely clinging to life, covered in open wounds and shattered chainmail. Yvonne and Tyran tried to revive him without success. “He needs a real healer,” murmured Yvonne, and they flew him and Alvar back to the Tourney grounds. But even with the best healers of the Argent Crusade praying and casting over his broken body, the undeath of the Scourge was slowly winning the battle. He was declared “truly dead” and burial pyres were ordered for him and his companion.

“No! I won’t have it!” Dorkan rushed to his friend’s side and opened a dark gate. The Death Knight glared around him as priests of the Light gaped in shock at him. “If’n ye can’t save ‘im, then I know some’un who can – and will!” The Death Gate swallowed both Draenei and Dwarf before fading away.

Not long after, Xanthelei woke with a splitting headache in a grey and decidedly warmer place than he expected. The only thing he recognized, in fact, was the red beard of his friend as he hovered like a mother hen. “I can almost hear you clucking, Dorkan,” Xanth chuckled weakly. The Dwarf chuckled back and helped him to sit up. “Where are we, though? I don’t recognize this place…”

“Aye, I wouldn’t ‘xpect ya to lad. This be Archon, where ye life were saved from the grasp of the damnable Coward-Prince.” Xanth shook his head to clear it and frowned at his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Ye don’t feel it? Th’ powar? Ye be a Death Knight now, lad. T’was the only way to save ye,” Dorkan replied matter-of-factly.

“…Shit.”

The following is an actual conversation that took place in the streets of Dalaran. Much staring was had from both factions in the city, though that may be due to the fact that a Draenei and a Blood Elf could actually understand each other.

Xanthelei: What the..? Ok, what alt is taking up all of Eric’s time? We need to grind rep! Get into Heroics for gear! We need to get ready to RAID ULDUAR, for Elune’s sake!

Revn: Sorry Big Blue, Eric isn’t your player anymore.

And who the hell are you, noob?

Eric’s new main Hunter. Revn. The Achiever and money-maker. /flex

…A glorified bank alt?

NO! *I* am everything *you* fail to be. I am poised to gather all the achievements, including your precious Bloodsail Buccaneer title.

Ok, first? FS is raiding now. Serious raiding. Eric can’t spend any time on alts until the Sons of Hodir and Knights of the Ebon Blade love us – preferably the Kirin Tor too. Secondly, I have Feats of Strength you will never gain, therefor *I* am the Achieving toon. Now scurry back to your ruined city and, I’unno, make an exploding squirrel or something.

“First”, FS may be raiding, but it won’t be with you. 2100 DPS in a 25-man? Puh-leez, a Death Knight can do that in his sleep! Until Eric gets real internet, you are doomed to be a replacement-raider.

/Sputter

And second, sure, you have a flappy minipet and, what, a blue beer stein? Big whoop, everyone knows the only Feats that count are the ones you have to actually work for. Besides, you can’t even remember who you helped across Azeroth when you were a ickle blue squidface – making Loremaster all but impossible for you.

And Loremaster will be *so* much easier for you, amirite?

Everyquest. Every. Quest. No post-its, small notebooks, or killing of trees necessary to complete Loremaster. Just a few clicks and I’m ready to quest. Not that you’d have the commitment to actually get the title anyway…

And just what is THAT supposed to mean, pretty boy!?

Just thinking over the past failures of you and your race. Fleeing your home to Outlands, then fleeing Outlands when a few fel orcs started shaking their fists at you. Not to mention the epic crashing of that ship of yours.

It only crashed because YOUR Prince sabotaged it!

I said not to mention it.

Horde.

Ally.

Noob!

Space goat!

FOR THE ALLIANCE!

FOR THE HORDE!

I realized today while helping a Hunter figure out how to increase her DPS just how much work and information is required to make a Hunter viable for raiding and instancing at level 80. To be honest, I hadn’t really put much thought into it before; it was just something that came with the territory. But while I was talking to this Hunter, I discovered she knew mostly the basics of what the class needs, but seemingly not how to get the information necessary to theory craft or research on her own. Well, I have a blog, right? And it’s rather lacking in direction, right? Why not put this space to good use and look at Huntering 101 from a raiding Survivalist’s perspective?

And there’s so much to consider! Gear, enchants, gems, glyphs, pets, specs for both you and your pet, consumables, stats… The list just keeps growing the more I think about it! How I will ever get it all down coherently, I am not sure, but I feel it’s worth the try. And so, I shall begin with the bare basics: reading your stats on the Character pane (and deciphering the archaic setup on the Pet info pane).

First, we need to figure out what stats are the most important to consider, and where to find them. Here you can see how I have my display set up: it shows me my basic stats and my ranged stats. Here I can look at my Agility, Intellect, Ranged Critical Percentage, Hit Rating, etc. Basically, we want to know everything on this pane except Strength, Spirit, and Armor.

Agility is the most basic stat for Hunters, and is arguably the most important base stat for Survivalists. One point of Agility is equal to one point of Attack Power and a small percentage of critical strike. Agility also benefits your pet – the more Agility you have, the more he has. Likewise, your pet gets a percentage of your Stamina. However, without the  talent [Hunter Vs. Wild] in the Survivalist tree, none of your Stamina counts as anything but health. 10 Stamina is equal to 100 health. Lastly, we want to know where our Intellect sits. Intellect gives you mana (10 Intellect = 100 mana), and thanks to the [Careful Aim] talent in the Marksmanship tree all of our Intellect becomes Ranged Attack Power. For me, that means I’m getting an extra 415 Attack Power.

On the other side of the stats pane, we have the Ranged Stats. Your Damage stat is a combination of the Damage on your ranged weapon plus the bonus damage from your ammo. If you mouse over it, a tool tip will pop up telling you what your attack speed, damage and damage-per-second (DPS) is. While this is the only way to see your base DPS, you can mouse over the Speed just below Damage to see both your attack speed and your haste. While I’ve never managed to find a reason to try to get more haste over, say, attack power or Agility, it’s a nice side stat that will show up on your gear. I consider it icing on the cake.

Moving down the line, we find our Attack Power. This number is a combination of all sorts of things: basic attack power based on your level, buffs, aspects, and stats from gear. Attack power is considered a bench mark stat for Hunters (along with Agility) in figuring out what your DPS potential is, but we’ll cover that later.

Hit Rating. This is the most important stat for a Hunter! I can’t stress enough how important it is to get near the hit cap (the point where you will no longer miss a boss) as soon as possible for raiding; every 1% of hit you gain, up until 8%, is equal to a 1% DPS increase. This is because you stop missing, thus all potential damage possible is being done to the boss. While you don’t have to be exactly at the hit cap, being within .5% is certainly what you should aim for. I myself am .02% under the hit cap, for example, but I’m not going to spend 500 gold just to “fix” that!

There are a few numbers to consider when figuring out what your hit rating cap is. All the numbers below is from a raiding perspective, where you will be shooting at a boss level (83) target:

Base Hit Rating Cap: 263
Draenei Hit Rating Cap: 230
Hit Rating Cap with 1/2/3 in Focused Aim: 197/164/132

Last on our list is Critical Strike Rating. This is something that, as you gather more Agility, will naturally increase. Also, you will find many items that include raw crit rating. Once you are hit capped, you can expect it to start creeping up to about 30% crit. Don’t stress if it’s low while you’re gearing up – just like your Stamina, the crit will come.

The last thing I want to look at this time around is the Pet screen. Blizzard has acknowledged that the current layout is both rather old and incomplete, but they haven’t said anything about fixing it up in the next few patches. So, we’ll need to make sure we can read the silly thing in the meantime. I’ve included the full panel because everything is rather spread out.

In the upper left corner is the happiness indicator. This changes colors to indicate your pet’s mood (and how much DPS it can do). Green is Happy, and your pet will do 150% damage; yellow is Content, and your pet will do 100% damage; and red is Unhappy, and your pet will do 50% damage. Obviously it’s pretty important to keep your pet happy! Doing so is easy – you can feed it (mouse over the indicator to see the tool tip that tells you what sorts of food your pet will eat), equip [Glyph of Mend Pet] and keep Mend Pet going until your pet is happy, or talent your pet to gain happiness. (We’ll cover these pet talents a bit later, though.)

Along the right side is your pet’s magic resistances. Currently, pets gain 1 resistance point per level, and can talent for more if you so choose. Honestly though, there’s no real reason that I’ve found to worry too much about these stats. They’re just sort of there for now.

Under the picture is your pet’s stats. This is set up in a simplified version of your character’s stats, with base stats on the left and “secondary” stats on the right. Since there’s nothing you can really do to affect these stats outside of your gear and talents, and your pet’s talents, all we really want to know here is where to find various statistics – just in case we get curious. Power simply shows your pet’s attack power; Damage shows DPS, attack speed, and base damage stats; Spell Bonus counts only for those pets with a spell attack, such as Wind Serpents and their Lightning Breath; and Armor is just that – how much armor your pet has and how much damage that armor will mitigate.

I should also note that the line of bubbles below the stats pane is your pet’s experience bar. If you’re leveling a pet and wonder how much longer it has until it gains a level, just open the pet panel and glance down here. You can even mouse over it to get a numerical indicator (such as “500/1500″ with the first number being how many experience points your pet has, and the second being how many it needs to gain a level).

Whew. That’s a lot of typing I just did. I think I’ll have these posts go in order of cost to change – there’s a few ways to squeeze some extra DPS out of your character without breaking the bank! – so Hunter Pet Talents will be next up.

The Dark Side tempted me with cookies and cake (or was it punch and pie?), and I finally gave in. Rerolled. New server, new faction, same class.

What? You didn’t think I could start with anything BUT a Hunter, did you?

Revn is now level 11 and questing his little heart out, Engineering goggles firmly in place. But I digress – this post is about the most important quest a Hunter will ever face: Taming a first pet.

After a bit of confusion as to which zeppelin would get me to Howling Fjord, I was on my way to the cold dark Aran was always trying to tell me about. Having never been on one of these airboats before, I took a tour, attempted to talk to the crew (apparently goblins get cranky when they’re cold), and anxiously awaited departure. Now, I have seen Howling Fjord before. I have NOT, however, seen it through the eyes of a very squishy L10 Blood Elf. It was stunning up until the snarling wolves found me. One cannot outrun these things without a mount. Trust me.

Just beyond the wolves is that oh-so-inviting lift, boosting folks up into the continent proper. I found it interesting that, once I was past this lift, I only ran into a problem once. Did you know that there is a dwarf hiding near the entrance to the Keep? Yeah, he apparently has issues with Horde. Talk about uncalled for ganking…

As soon as I revived, however, I saw my target. Daggercap Hawk, level 6. Scraggly. Underfed. Pitch black.

Some things in this world require sharing. Things like, I’unno, a large group of people bursting into dance to a techno remix of Do Re Me from The Sound of Music. In the middle of a Belgian train station.

My favorite part of the whole thing is the look of sheer joy on the face of the guy who starts it. He knows what he is about to do. He is about to kick off something of epic proportions, and look like an idiot doing so. And he loves it!

I wonder what it’d take for someone to do this in America… Well, watch and enjoy. I know I did.

This is what happens when I am up all hours of the night stalking a book spawn with only one person to talk to. I get bored. And when I get bored, I do crazy shit. Tonight’s crazy shit is… a blog header.

It was done in paint. That’s as hi-tech as I get, folks. Besides, the whole blog is ghetto, why should it have a super fancy header?

Huh?? WHY I SAY?

… Another 1.5 hours to go for the next spawn… Guess I better grab more caffeine.

EDIT: Book did not spawn at 6 AM like it should have. Must wait for 7 AM. Good thing I work at 2:30 PM unlike a normal person.

EDIT 2: Blizzard has a way of rewarding the tenatious (read: stupid). My book did indeed spawn, and I collapsed into bt immediately after for about 6 hours sleep. I hope everyone else slept better than me!