Much Ado About Nothing

As some of you may know, I play World of Warcaft, a massively multiplayer online roleplaying game. Though there’s not really much roleplaying involved. Basically you get together with your friends, if you have any, and kill things.

My main character‘s name is Nothing. She is a Night Elf rogue. “The rogues of Azeroth are the masters of subterfuge, skilled and cunning adversaries of those who dare not look into the shadows to see what lurks there. Roguery is a profession for those who seek the adventures of stalking in silent forests, dimly lit halls and heavily guarded strongholds. Using trickery in combat and able to vanish at the slightest distraction, the rogue is a welcome addition to any group of adventurers. Ideal spies, deadly to those they can catch unaware, rogues have no problem finding a place in the world. Deadly masters of stealth, rogues are the whispers in shadowy corners and the hooded figures crossing dark fields. Skilled with daggers and the art of silent death, these vagabonds and bandits skulk about Azeroth seeking targets and profit.” (

My Azeroth Adventures installments are based on this character, whom I renamed Rumer. (Yes, even my characters have characters.)

In the past two years I’ve been playing this character, I have received much attention because of her name. Random people have whispered me saying they like my choice and that it suits the rogue class. Nothing is also the butt of many jokes in my guild. My favorite is, “We’re all standing around doing Nothing.” Pictures are posted on my Facebook and our guild’s Facebook page about anything that has the word Nothing in it, like:















So in case any of you are wondering where I came up with that name, I have written a little ditty about it.  Here goes:

Much Ado About Nothing

It’s nice to know you don’t love me for my beauty because she is ugly.

It’s nice to know you don’t love me for my money because she is poor.

It’s nice to know you don’t love me for my sex because she gives you none.

It’s nice to know you don’t love me.

Because I’m Nothing.


The Hanged Man

Four poster legs and sleep

in dark and loneliness.

Sacrifice for fire,

for you and for her.

A tear stained with life

hanging low from a beam,

drips suffering slow

to the iron-soaked earth.

It devours each day

the hunger never slaked.

Renewed with the stars,

there is no hope for me.

But peace replaces my guilt

for one day it ends.

You will be with her,

and I will be free.