Just a Flesh Wound

A drabble from based on Aiode Falls rpg.

There was a loud yelp of pain, before the bathroom became quiet again. Katie had stepped away during the sudden outburst afraid it was her fault. Well it was, in a round about way, but she couldn't help it. She sucked in her lower lip before returning to what she had been doing: stitching up the gaping slashes across Finn's back.

"You have to hold still. I'm trying, I'm really trying.." She begged to him softly, as she finished off the last stitch on the first one of his deep scratches.

Katie brought the warm wash cloth to his back again, wiping at the blood that had been covering his back. The washcloth, once a fluffy white, now was a reddish orange color from being wrung over numerous times into the sink. Normally she would feel awful about ruining something, but considering who this hotel belonged to..

Straddling the seat, Finn had propped his arms and his head on the backside of the toilet. It was obvious he was holding back much more then the few shrieks of pain he was letting out; apparent by how white his knuckles got as they balled into fists every time Katie put the slightest of pressure to his back. His leg twitched up and down impatiently, waiting for her to be finished. It looked just as bad as it felt, and Katie had to do it the old fashioned way: needle, thread, hot water and a lot of patience. She took no joy in this; if she could have done it quickly she would have, but she was horribly inexperienced. She wished Alicia were here, she would do this better.

Her movements were gentle as she wiped at the handful of deep wounds across his back. She could trace the apparent claw marks of the beast that had ambushed him -- three digits on each hand; they had come down on a marring criss cross action down Finn's back. How he could still manage himself somewhat upright was beyond her. The shirt he had on was nothing more than scraps, so he had no complaints about cutting off him when they made it back to the room.

The most grueling part was pulling the bits of cloth that were stuck in his wounds, whilst cleaning them. The noises he had made then were much more piercing for Katie to listen too. She had shied away from touching him, until Finn, through gritted teeth, coaxed her into it. There was so much blood -- the floor now was evident of what had once been. It may have looked gruesome now, but the initial inspection had been far worse.

Wringing out the washcloth again, she held it under the running tap in the sink letting the warm water saturate it before bringing to back to clean up more area on his back. He had tensed at the contact.

Frowning, she brought the washcloth to his shoulder, around the back of his neck to the other side. It wasn't in treatment but for relaxation. She couldn't do this if he was wound as tight as a wire. He turned slightly to look at her, before tilting his head down to kiss her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Warcrack: A Social Commentary on World of Warcraft

“I need you to use Holy Nova when the mob comes, Scun,” instructed the armored creature, resembling something of a giant cow, to a smaller, more petite elf, with glowing green eyes.

“Everyone’s been here right?” A female voice, questioned, hoping that the answer would be instinctively positive. Now was not the time to be pointing where to run when the goblin monster came charging at high speed toward the crowd.

A few smattered yes’s came from the rest, standing in a haphazard semi-circle, a handful of meters away from the monster they were strategizing to engage; a few though were sitting cross legged and drinking from a pint that seemed to appear from thin air.

Adjusting my own headset, I brought the microphone up with my lips to verbally the reply to the “Ready Check” that my guild leader, Biggles, had initiated.

I’m a Level 80 Blood Elf Priest. A typical night running around as my luscious 3-D fantasy model, consists of raiding Naxxramas, farming for gold, and enchanting a melee weapon to the highest bidder. Clearly, if you haven’t the faintest what I’m talking about, you’re not one of the 11.5 million players, or the equivalent to the population of the state of Ohio, that log on to World of Warcraft on a daily basis. From the barely legal to the legally handicapped, there is no limitation to those who will spend countless hours trapped behind a computer screen of this visually captivating, yet retina impairing, world. If the tedious task of skinning dead crocodiles and racing around to find a treasure chests in graveyards inhabited by the walking dead, isn’t fascinating enough, then what is? Feeling shy? Then maybe trying to beat the record of most hours logged will sate your hunger for limited social interaction -- can you surpass the current holder of 463 days in under two years?

But unlike those who crave communication through emoticons and scantily-clad blue elves blowing kisses, some of us do a have a life. Despite spending my vet visits discussing boss tactics rather than the well being of my own furry feline, I go to school, play in a band, work, and actually leave my house to gather with people that put my senses to a Schwarzenegger-worthy work out. But what about the other sixty-two percent of the collective whole that is online gaming? Horror stories and clever nicknames like “Warcrack” have been floating around since Blizzard’s conception of the droningly addictive game. I’m pretty positive rival online games haven’t warranted the use of comparing them to illegal substances, like Warcraft has. Time stealing and relationship damaging, World of Warcraft has become more than a game; it’s become an unhealthy, and growing, obsession.

Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Take a leaf out China’s book; forcing their over thirty-one million online game players, only a fraction of that being World of Warcraft, that it was taking a neurotic toll. Don’t expect to play more than three hours a day on any “internet marijuana”, before the feds step in, giving you the proverbial “Game Over”. Like a recent nicotine patch junkie, still searching for anything to wrap and light despite it containing nothing resembling a cigarette, Chinese game players are far from deterred by the government’s parental controls. The booming sales, jumping nearly seventy-five percent from year to year, show that mythical creatures and fantasy lands won’t go extinct that easily. Three hours is better than no hours. The mindset in the States would be similar, if only our government stepped in to limit play. But fortunately for those who have already quit their careers and given up tangible friends to be committed to Warcraft, our government has done no such thing. Now there is no stopping the caffeine addicted players from sleepless nights of completing a job no one hired them to do.

But why does that mentality seem so appealing? Warcraft is a monotonous display of point and clicks, slaughtering innocent animals for experience that can’t be traded in towards the real world, and carrying around severed heads in a clearly defined, internet dimensional knapsack. Insanity is doing a task over and over and hoping to get different results. When that task is shrouded in multicolored polygons and non-playable characters with one dimensional cognitive abilities, it’s difficult to break the hypnosis in what are the cyclic adventures across Azeroth.

Instant gratification stems from all walks of life, from compliments to climaxes, so why not give it in a video game? Blizzard is no help with sating those who race to be the character with the most gear, so gaudy it would make Bjork cry. With their new achievement system, and lowering the amount it takes to get from one level to the next, boasting your “e-peen” to other faceless members of your Warcraft tribe has become suffocating those casually wanting to pass on through. By giving small bonuses to players who seem to always be skirting around the main cities no matter what time of day, there’s always a reason to keep coming back for more.

To those socially inept, Warcraft, like many online games, has become the new MySpace. Move over eHarmony! You’ll never find a larger congregation of burly men wielding axes or eye-appealing Blood Elves poppin’ and lockin’ than in the Wide World of Warcraft. Unless you count the weekend Blizzard holds its annual convention. Forcing those brave enough to venture out of the tomb that is their parent’s basement to play amongst others like them, it raises the possibility for those virtually virgins to become suave Prince Charmings of the Warcraft fame. Because waving to a girl across the cafeteria just isn’t as romantic to the female players as riding up on a white tiger and asking if she needs a lift to Stormwind from across computers. Even testing your new pickup line such as “Would you like to see my legendary sword?” would be ideal. Of course, if conversation gets awkward, you can always talk about the only thing you’ll have in common: World of Warcraft.

So the next time you’re turned down by your best friend for a wonderfully promising night on the town, because they’d rather let you down than their thirty some odd guild members they‘ve never met face to face, repeat the mantra: it’s not their fault. It’s simply Blizzard, for making those quests just slightly more thought provoking than conversation with you. It’s the media, for creating parody episodes of South Park and the Simpsons, that barely make them question their fanatical ties to the game, but rather laugh along saying “How true! I would ask my mom to bring me a bed pan so I never had to get up to go to the bathroom while playing either!”. It’s the other players, for encouraging dysfunctional sleeping habits, unnecessary verbal battles and condescending behavior to those we fondly call “noobs”, just to show the online gaming population who can be first on their server, to become nothing more than a faceless name on Wikipedia. And it’s you, for not understanding that your lack of involvement in the prolonged battle of the Horde versus the Alliance is just as catastrophic as a nuclear holocaust.

There's a great story about Pablo Picasso. Some guy told Picasso he'd pay him to draw a picture on a napkin. Picasso whipped out a pen and banged out a sketch, handed it to the guy, and said, "One million dollars, please."

"A million dollars?" the guy exclaimed. "That only took you thirty seconds!"

"Yes," said Picasso. "But it took me fifty years to learn how to draw that in thirty seconds."